The Lost Ones
by little.acatalepsy
Summary: Proven innocent years after his conviction, Sirius is thrown into a world that has moved on without him. Amidst mending his own broken life, he becomes the guardian of his neglected godson and struggles to unravel the disappearance of his only remaining friend. All the while, a mysterious darkness lurks in the shadows, slowly corrupting the Wizarding World's facade of peace...
1. Sealed, Undone

**Hello All!**

 **I'm finally writing again! It's taken me a while to get this published, I know, but I've managed to carve out some time. To begin, I know that stories like this have been done, and I was originally inspired by those and I acknowledge the wonderfulness of their creators. But I thought I'd try my hand at this type of AU and add a little twist of my own. (And I promise you original twists).**

 **Character-wise, this story is Remus and Sirius-centric, with a lot of Harry and many appearances by Moody, the Weasleys, Hogwarts professors, _et al._**

 **Because of the canon content, this is going to start off a little dark, but don't worry, there will be happy things too. I'm trying a parallel story-telling style, so hopefully this goes well.**

 **Anyway, enjoy reading this story!**

 **-Cat**

 **Disclaimer: J.K. has much better things to do with her time than write fanfiction about _her own characters and story._**

 **Warnings: Angst (a lot), possible trigger-warning, the occasional swear word, a hint of PTSD, some violence.**

 **AND a note on updates: Let's get real for a second, folks. I know that I was a fast updater in the past, but my pace is going to slow waaaaayyyyy down. I'm about ten times busier than I used to be and as much as I love writing fanfiction, it can't be my priority, so I apologize in advance.**

* * *

Chapter 1

Sealed/Undone

 _November 1, 1981_

It was the only inn for miles, crammed into the upper floors of a local bar. In the chilly damp of afternoon, the residents of the village were leaving work for the comfort of the glasses filled with warm amber. They clustered, noses running from the cold and ready to spill bitter thoughts to each other, wishing that someone cared. The air was heavy with complaints, suspicions, gossip, glances.

Vagrants were common here, looking for a cheap night where they could stay anonymous. Or find a stranger to talk to, who would forget them by morning. Blending in, that was the key. Which was why the newcomer was garnering so many stares.

He was tall, swathed in a cloak of deepest indigo blue. A silver beard fell midway down his chest, still retaining a shock of auburn near the chin and under the crooked nose. As he stepped into the dim interior, he swept a pointed hat from his head and smiled pleasantly at the bartender. He did not say a word, but made his way swiftly to the staircase in the back, the one that went up to the overnight rooms.

"'Scuse me, sir," the bartender interrupted, after managing to get over his shock at the visitor. "But tha's for paying guests only."

The newcomer paused and regarded the bartender politely with eyes of piercing sky blue.

"I apologize for barging in. I'm here to speak with a friend of mine, one of your guests," he replied. His tone was genial, but there was a hint of authority that brooked no argument. "Room two fourteen. I hope that is alright."

"Er...er yeah. I know 'im," the bartender stuttered. His patrons looked on with interest. "Been 'ere awhile. Quiet fellow, that one… Yeah. Go on up."

"Thank you." And the intimidating aura vanished. He appeared to wilt into another insignificant vagrant, slowly ascending the stairs. The guests found themselves suddenly second-guessing their curiosity. This man was of no consequence. So they returned to their low buzz of gossip and complaint as if he had never been there at all.

But to the magical community, Albus Dumbledore was important. Essential even. And after the events of the previous night, his time had been consumed with the aftermath. But this… this was his final task. The one that should have been undertaken first, but things unfolded too immediately, too horribly. It was the one he wanted to perform least of all.

He entered the second-floor hallway, feeling all of his long years weighing him down. The corridor smelled of cigarette smoke and stale laundry. Behind one of the doors, a baby was crying. Behind another blared a television set. A third was dark. But the tall wizard that filled the corridor was focused on the fourth door. The paint was chipped and worn. Tarnished brass numerals told him that this was number two hundred and fourteen.

On the threshold, he allowed himself a single breath. Inhale, exhale. Then he raised a weary hand and knocked three times. Soft footsteps sounded on the other side.

"Who's there?" asked a hoarse voice.

"Albus Dumbledore. I told you over a game of gobstones and crumpets that you were accepted into Hogwarts and we had a way to manage your condition."

The door creaked open, revealing a tired man with graying brown hair. Dumbledore frowned, taking in the fraying jumper, the pink lines puckering beneath the collar, the permanent crease of worry. His face was shadowed and gaunt. Had he heard the news already?

 _No,_ Dumbledore thought to himself after a closer examination. That mysterious warmth still burned around him, the flame fed by the promise of lifelong friendships. For the moment, Remus Lupin was still whole.

"You scared the hell out of me Albus. I was not expecting anyone today."

"Apologies, Remus," Dumbledore said quietly. He stepped into the dingy room. A neatly made bed was stuffed against a wall to allow room for a table. A few books littered the scratched surface, as well as a cup of something hot. Swirls of steam dissipated into the cold air, lit by the watery sunlight through a single window.

"I'd offer you tea, but I'm afraid what I'm drinking is too weak to be considered much more than hot water."

"No tea, thank you."

"I've made some progress with the werewolves here, but nothing substantial. They're wary of newcomers. I think they will be more likely to listen once I've gained their trust. If they've avoided the Death Eaters this long…"

He trailed away. Dumbledore recognized it, the nervous rambling of a cornered man. Remus was intelligent. He knew that Dumbledore would never come here unannounced, compromising his mission, unless it was important. Or devastating. And it was.

"Why are you here?"

"Sit down, Remus."

Remus remained standing, hands clenched at his sides. "Why are you here?" he repeated in a hushed voice.

"Your mission is… no longer necessary," Dumbledore began. "I've come to escort you home, if you'll let me. But first… you need to sit down."

"Albus, please…" Painful. Entreating.

Dumbledore met the dull amber eyes. He was a fragile shell of resolution, covering terror. The passing of time came to a standstill.

"Voldemort went to Godric's Hollow last night," Dumbledore said, hating himself as he spoke. "The Fidelius Charm was broken. James and Lily are dead."

Remus did not make a sound. But his eyes closed and his face turned white. "Harry?" he whispered, barely audible.

"Alive, miraculously. Voldemort tried to kill him, but as far as I can tell, the curse backfired. Voldemort was destroyed by the child."

The news of Voldemort's defeat did not seem to register. Remus remained statuesque. Dumbledore could hear his trembling breaths through his nose, see the muscles tighten in his jaw. A visceral struggle for control.

"Sirius?" The name was strangled, unlike Remus' voice at all.

"On his way to Azkaban."

"No...no, there must be some mistake," Remus faltered. "Sirius… he wouldn't…" Eyes opened, staring at Dumbledore, pleading with him to agree. It only made the final blow even more difficult to deliver.

"Peter Pettigrew tracked Sirius and cornered him in a muggle street this morning. The confrontation was brief, with several eyewitnesses. Sirius blew up the street. The explosion killed Peter instantly, along with twelve others."

This time, Remus did make a sound, like a wounded animal. His knees started to give and Dumbledore quickly guided him to the bed. Remus sank down, breath coming in short gasps. His head dropped into his scarred hands, the nails biting down into his scalp.

"I'm so sorry, Remus," Dumbledore murmured. The words were crushed by the enormity of the young man's loss.

"Please leave," Remus choked. He was shaking. Dumbledore could feel his ears popping with pressure.

"Remus-"

" _Please,"_ Remus growled harshly.

Unable to do anything other than what was asked, Dumbledore stood and took his leave. As soon as the door clicked shut, the pressure in the lonely room released. The single window blew outward, raining shattered glass into the dead leaves below.

Dumbledore leaned against the sealed door in silence. He assured the bartender that all was well, even though it was not even close.

And he waited.

* * *

 _March 21, 1986_

Time did not matter here. Splintered, broken, dead, and gone.

Except the body had no understanding of this. It was subject to everything, the cold, the wet, the hunger, the atrophy, the years upon years. Shrinking and shriveling under the influence of time's slow decaying influence. Anything immaterial… that was also being eroded. But not by time.

Chaos did not have a timeline.

And the chaos was everything, the grief, the rage, the despair, the memory. The immaterial parts of himself were battered by it. Mind and soul. Torment of laughter and dead, unseeing eyes and " _Hi! I'm James."_ Over and over and over. If only he could go insane. But he was damned by his anchor to rationality. His innocence.

His island in the storm.

And he hated that the metaphor fit so perfectly. His eyes were fixed on still darkness, but in his ears the screams and the sobs and the waves were never-ending. It was never quiet here.

" _Come on, Padfoot!"_

" _Nice one, James!"_

" _I hate you!"_

" _Lily and James, Sirius, how could you?!"_

He couldn't. That was the answer. The only immoveable part of his perishable mind.

Sirius could not have killed Lily and James Potter.

And perhaps, that was the only reason he noticed. Something was changing. The iron grill was opening, screeching in protest. His spine grated against the cold stones as he shifted. He did not look, he could not bear the sight of the black hoods. They were here to end it, here to take his soul. Panic, red-hot. Despair. Relief. _Coward._ Finally, finally, finally…

"Sirius."

He twitched. That sound, the sanity of it, cascaded through his head. The chaos stilled under its touch. A single string of memory plucked, humming with the sound of the voice, the voice that was so familiar. With it came a spark of sky blue, waterfalls of silver, the smell of home.

 _I should look up,_ he thought. It was his first true thought in a long time. It was refreshing. But what if it was a trick? Something to entertain the dementors, false hope taken by a glance.

"Sirius, stand up."

His weakened legs obeyed the command before he could process it. The brittle muscles creaked ominously. Ceiling, walls, and floor tilted dangerously until… a brush of contact.

The universe stilled. Even his trembling ceased. And he had to look, because he had not been touched by another human since that last day of sunlight. The blue and the silver were still there, though hardened and aged by the same time that Sirius thought no longer existed.

"Can you walk?" asked the voice.

Sirius nodded without really knowing the answer. Someone else, a burly prison guard, was fiddling with the iron bracelets on his wrists, detaching them from the wall. The bracelets stayed, but Sirius felt his breath coming faster. He was unmoored. Why? What was happening?

"Can we remove the cuffs?" the voice inquired.

"Not until everything's said and done," responded the guard, apologetically. "'S procedure."

"I understand." He sounded… disappointed. "Follow me, Sirius."

Uncertain feet obeyed his unused mental muscles. Walk. Why? His brain was too stretched, too lost. But he followed. He stumbled once, and was touched again, firmly now. A wizened hand grasping his wasted arm, holding him upright. There were others, too, blurs of reality compared to the one guiding him.

The labyrinth threatened to swallow them whole, vomiting darkness from corners and holes and burrows. Sirius kept his eyes on his walking feet, bile held in check, panting with exertion. They were leaving. _I am leaving._ That was clear. The threshold was nearing, the air changed. It was moving instead of stagnant.

And then…

Wind.

The shock made Sirius forget to inhale. Black spots danced in his vision, flitting across the rainy curtains. Rain.

"Easy, Sirius. You have to breath."

Sirius remembered. It did not taste like despair, but like salt. He coughed at the sharpness of the taste.

"Sirius… Do you know who I am?"

It took Sirius three tries to make a sound. When he was finally able, it was a rasp. "Dumbledore."

Then everything went black.

* * *

There were no voices in his head when he woke. His mind was entirely his own. The loneliness of his own slow and sluggish thoughts was unnerving.

And the cold was gone. At least, it was gone from his skin. The ache in his bones held onto it like a lifeline, like they had forgotten how to live without it. But his skin… it was cool. He was lying on something soft, not made of stone.

Sirius opened his eyes. Brightness needled into his brain. Grunting, he closed his eyelids to slits, squinting against the light. He was still in a cell, but the chains were gone. The softness beneath him was a pallet on a raised cot. The door allowed some privacy, a small, square window in the top. And the light… the light. Sirius inhaled sharply through his nose. It was clean light, untouched by shadows. Artificial magical glow, but nothing like the flickering torches and dull wandlight of Azkaban.

He let his eyes adjust. His ears listened to the steady rattle of air in his lungs, the soft murmur of conversation floating through the walls. Coming closer, closer…

It ceased outside his door.

There was a jingle of keys, the sliding of a deadbolt, then two men entered. They froze when they saw that his eyes were open. Seconds of eye contact. Then the first one broke it, lifting a pair of handcuffs from his belt. Sirius lowered his eyes to the man's polished shoes and slowly pushed himself upright, feeling every joint throb, his stomach lurch. He coughed painfully, swallowed bile.

"Hands, Black."

Sirius made no move to lift the skeletal creatures from his lap. He heard an exhaled breath, then the man stepped up to him and lifted his hands himself. The cuffs were adjusted to fit his thin wrists.

"Stand up."

Standing hurt more this time. His mind was still soporific, resistant, but _his,_ and it felt more clearly. Atrophied muscles struggled to obey, joints scraped, and then he was up. The second man had watched this patiently, not saying a word.

"Can you walk?" he finally asked. Dumbledore had asked that as well. Sirius remembered that quite suddenly. His voice had been… equivocal. So was the guard's. Sirius had concluded that they were guards.

"Black?"

Sirius realized he had not answered. He nodded stiffly. Then, one shuffling step after the other, he left the cell and entered a long, dark hallway. It was paved in glossy stones that were dark as obsidian. Sirius watched his distorted reflection, relieved that it did not show any distinguishable features. He did not want to see the stranger.

They did not walk far. He stumbled a few times, only to be deftly caught by the men flanking him.

"Nearly there," the first guard murmured. Sirius' eyes darted to the guard's face in surprise. Was that pity? The fog was still swirling in his brain, but for the first time, Sirius was truly confused. The rest of the way, a new question pounded clumsily through his mind.

 _What is happening? What is happening? What is happening?_

This door was large, ornate, decorated with a brass number ten. The second guard rapped smartly on the solid wood. They waited, then the door opened of its own accord.

Every wasted muscle in Sirius' body froze. Beyond the threshold was a huge, circular chamber. Raised seating wrapped around the walls, filled with hundreds of eyes staring directly at him. The people wore robes of black and scarlet, divided by color into pools of ebony and blood. In a high dais sat two wizards and a witch, all with gold and velvet on their sleeves. And in the center was a cleared space with a single chair. Sirius could feel himself trembling with shock. This was a courtroom.

"Witches and wizards of the Wizengamot, we now present the accused, Sirius Orion Black, whose actions will be tried on this day, March twenty-first, 1986, in light of the new evidence presented to you, the court, over the last week. If the guards will escort Mr. Black to the floor…"

The tall, dark-haired wizard in the dais gestured to the guards on either side of Sirius. The first guard grasped his upper arm again and nudged him forward. Sirius' mind was blank as he sank into the isolated chair in the middle of the courtroom. There were chains on the armrests, but they hung limp. Then the guards disappeared, leaving Sirius feeling vulnerable and naked before the court. Their focus fixed him in place.

 _What is happening?_

"On November the first, 1981, the accused was sentenced to life in Azkaban for the murders of Peter Pettigrew and twelve muggles, as well as passing on the whereabouts of James Potter, Lily Evans Potter, and Harry Potter to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, leading to the murders of James and Lily Potter on the eve of October thirty-first, 1981…"

The droning voice was drowned out by a fresh wave of grief that was staggering. A wound that could never close, prodded with something sharp. " _James and Lily, Sirius, how could you?!"_ Sirius clenched his jaw and stared straight ahead. He as good as killed them.

"...will now proceed with the questioning of the defendant about his deeds on November the first, 1981, the evening of October thirty-first, 1981, and the days preceding. Will the defendant please state his name for the court?"

There was a shuffling around the chamber. They seemed to be waiting for something. Sirius let his gaze rove over them, searching for someone familiar. There was Mad-Eye Moody, electric blue eye glaring down like a spotlight, a frown cutting through his craggy face. And closer to the front, silver beard on black, was Dumbledore. His expression was thoughtful, but he gave Sirius the slightest tilt of the chin-

"Your name," the tall wizard repeated, louder. Sirius looked up at him, understanding bleeding slowly through the fog. This was _his_ trial. The one they had never given him. _Why now?_ His battered brain was not yet capable of supplying an answer. He cleared his throat.

"Sirius Orion Black." His voice scraped over dry, unused vocal chords like wind across sand, barely above a whisper. But it echoed eerily in the vaulted chamber, filling every cranny.

"The defendant must swear upon his magic that he will answer with the truth, and nothing but the truth before this Wizengamot. Do you so swear?"

"Yes."

"Then let the record reflect that I, Everard Allen Bones, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, am leading the following examination of Sirius Orion Black." The tall wizard-Bones-shuffled his papers, then fixed Sirius with sharp eyes. "Before the events of October thirty-first, 1981, Lily and James Potter were put under the protection of the Fidelius Charm. Mr. Black, were you the Secret Keeper of Lily and James Potter?"

"No," he breathed out immediately. The courtroom inhaled. For the first time, Sirius believed that they were listening.

"If not you, who was the Potter's Secret Keeper?" asked Bones, his voice unchanged.

"Peter was."

"You are referring to Peter Pettigrew?"

"Yes… we-we switched," Sirius stated numbly.

Bone's expression was unreadable. He unfolded a pair of reading glasses with quick, precise movements and perched them on his nose. Then, looking down at the top paper in his stack, he said, "In a previous interview, Albus Dumbledore stated that you _were_ , in fact, the chosen Secret Keeper. You switched without telling the man who performed the Fidelius Charm?"

"We told no one," Sirius confessed, regret welling in his stomach.

"No one," Bones repeated, neither skeptical or believing. "You and Peter Pettigrew were close friends?"

"Not anymore," Sirius hissed.

"Answer the question, Mr. Black," Bones said sternly. "Were you and Peter Pettigrew close friends at the time just before the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

Sirius eyed Bones balefully, wishing he understood why this was important. "Not as close and James and I. But yes… I considered us close."

"So your close friends, James and Peter, knew of the switch. But there was a fourth in your group, as I understand it. Did you consider yourself a close friend of one Remus John Lupin?"

 _Remus._ More regret. "I did," he whispered. The past tense lingered in his ears, begging to be corrected. Was Remus here? He had not seen him, but the room was so full of people that maybe…

"I have a record here of Lupin stating under veritaserum that _you_ were the Potter's Secret Keeper." Sirius looked up. In Bones' hand was another thin sheet of paper, translucent in the overhead light. Lines of emerald green text crawled across it. As the minutes ticked by, the dementors' influence was draining from his head, allowing his thoughts to flow faster. _Under veritaserum… what?_

"He told what he firmly believed to be true. You told your close friends, but excluded Lupin. Considering the accounts of your friendship I have from multiple acquaintances, I find that hard to believe. Unless there was a reason," prompted Bones, breaking Sirius' reverie.

There was the guilt again, like hot lead. Sirius allowed his gaze to drift back to the blank stare at the floor. "We knew someone close to us had switched sides. I thought… I thought he might be a traitor." The words were bitter. "But it was Peter. It was Peter."

Bones was quiet. A few members of the Wizengamot shifted. Mad-Eye rubbed his jaw. Dumbledore was perfectly still. And Remus. Remus was no where.

"Why was Peter chosen as Secret Keeper instead of yourself?"

"I thought… I thought it would be clever. J-James and I were best friends, I was the obvious choice. But Peter could go into hiding… I could divert Voldemort's attention-" Nearly everyone in the courtroom flinched. Sirius shrunk down at the sudden movement, startled.

"So on October thirty-first, how did you come to learn of the Potter's deaths?"

Sirius' throat was dry. He licked cracked lips. "I went to check on Peter but he wasn't in his safehouse… I didn't even-I thought maybe he had been caught. I went to James' and the door was… it was blown off its hinges. There was a hole in the side of the house-"

His voice faltered and died. He could not finish this.

"Mr. Black?"

Sirius shot him a weak glare. The crowd around him seemed to be leaning forward, waiting for what he had seen. Morbidly hungry for the tale, the legend.

"I realized what Peter must have done," he muttered. He could not feed their curiosity. He couldn't. He skipped it all. The magnetic pull of horror as he stepped through the broken door-

 _James' eyes were wide and fixed beneath crooked glasses. He lay sprawled on the steps, blocking the way to the nursery. Harry's hiccuping sobs echoed down the stairs. He had to move, Harry shouldn't be alone._

 _He straightened James' glasses with violently trembling hands._

 _Then he went past in a trance, to a nursery blown to smithereens, to Lily's long red hair flared out on the carpet, specks of dust on her emerald green orbs. Hagrid was already there, holding his godson in his arms, tears streaming into his beard._

" _Let me take him. Please." Begging. "I'm his godfather. Please-"_

"Fine," Bones said, his voice an unfeeling knife cutting through Sirius' thoughts. But his hard gaze had softened slightly. "Let's move on to the events of November the first, 1981. Eyewitness reports state that you confronted Pettigrew on a crowded muggle street. You were both yelling, though the conversation was indistinct until Pettigrew yelled, quote, 'Lily and James, Sirius how could you,' unquote. What happened next?"

The shout that haunted Sirius was sterilized by Bones' machine-like reading. Sirius shuddered. Then he grasped the question. What happened…

" _Lily and James, Sirius how could you?!"_

 _Peter's face was twisted and ugly. His voice pitched with terror, eyes determined. A shaking hand, a flash of silver, and a scream of anguish. A fleshy, jointed shape fell to the asphalt._

 _Sirius could barely understand. Every organ had been brutally ripped out by Godric's Hollow. He raised his wand._

 _The street erupted._

 _And then Peter seemed to shrink in on himself, shrivel with his betrayal. Become the rat. Scurry down into the gutter._

 _His ears rang. Screaming reached him, it sounded like he was underwater. The street was covered in blood. Only the accusingly pointed piece of Peter left behind._

 _And Sirius…_

 _Sirius laughed._

"You're saying that Pettigrew cut off his own finger, then blew up the street?" Dubious looks from the crowd.

"Yes."

He should say more, he needed to convince them-

Creaking of old wood in the corner. Dumbledore was standing, solemn in the black velvet robe he wore. Whispers flurried around the room like an anticipatory breeze.

"Permission to address the Wizengamot at this time," Dumbledore asked. His voice was dressed in humility, but beneath it lay the headmaster's intensity.

"Granted," Bones responded.

"In light of the hearing yesterday, March the twentieth, and the testimony of Sirius Black today, I would like to enter a possible artifact for consideration in this trial."

"You have the artifact here in the court chambers?" Bones inquired, eyebrows rising. He appeared more resigned than surprised.

"Indeed." From the depths of the night-black sleeve came a slender box, polished and carefully kept. Bones nodded to a clerk, who vacated his seat immediately and scurried to fetch the box from Dumbledore's hands. Sirius' attention wandered. Nearly everyone watched as the clerk sidled around the seated Wizengamot to the venerable Headmaster.

But the man who was seated behind the clerk… Sirius' fragile concentration adjusted, sharpened. The man was watching him instead, with irises like molten lead. Sirius blinked and the man was watching the clerk again, looking politely interested as Dumbledore handed the clerk the slender box. The man's hands rested casually over his knees, gloved in snow-white.

Then Sirius' concentration broke again, blurred and realigned. The clerk bore the artifact to the center of the room, slightly in front and to the left of where Sirius was seated.

"Open it," instructed Bones. The was a click of the clasp and the box opened, revealing a thin stick of plain wood. A wand. It took Sirius only seconds to recognize it.

"Let Artifact 1-a be entered into the records," Dumbledore was saying. "The wand of Peter Pettigrew, willingly surrendered by his mother, Edith Pettigrew."

There was a collective intake of breath around the courtroom. Bones' expression did not change, but his grip on his papers tightened. "You have been productive since yesterday, Headmaster."

The twinkle below the shadow of Dumbledore's brow was difficult to miss. When he spoke, however, his voice was level. "Due to the testimony provided today, the court has probable cause to perform Prior Incantato on the wand. Of course, that routinely should have been performed on the scene with Mr. Black's own wand, but the wand was, unfortunately, snapped prematurely." There was a hard edge to Dumbledore's voice now. "Should Mr. Black be telling the truth, the last spell performed by Mr. Pettigrew's wand will be the blasting curse."

Bones cleared his throat. There was a dry crackling as he released the papers in his hands. Then he looked down at the clerk. "Proceed," he instructed.

The clerk removed the wand from its cushioned casing. He took a few seconds to feel the wand in his hand, then said clearly, "Prior incantato."

Thunder reverberated in the courtroom, a rush of energy exploding outward and a blinding flash. Then in the echoing aftermath, the entire courtroom was utterly silent. No one moved, no one breathed, rigid in various stages of shock. Then the murmurs began, low rumblings that grew in volume. A roar of voices, pressing against Sirius, who was still blinking away the spots in his eyes, fighting back the tide of ugly despair that had filled him when he heard that sound the first time. With that explosion had ended any hope for his life to continue-

The pounding of Bones' gavel cracked through the noise, which died abruptly. The white-gloved man was a statue in his seat, not a muscle moved, not a finger out of place. But the rest of the court was restless, shocked, horrified even. Bones himself appeared shaken, the stony expression finally fractured. But in the silence, he gathered his composure.

Something had softened in his gaze, and he held Sirius' eyes as he delivered his next statement. "Let the record reflect that examination of Artifact 1-a using the reverse spell revealed that the last spell performed by the wand of Peter Pettigrew was indeed the blasting hex." The court was holding its breath. "Mr. Black, what happened after Pettigrew blew up the street?"

"He-" Sirius' throat was dry, his brain struggling to process. He swallowed. Their secret did not matter anymore. The Marauders no longer existed. "Then he transformed into a rat and escaped. He's an unregistered animagus. I am too."

Bones' eyebrows rose, if possible, even higher, but he chose not to comment. He cleared his throat and said, "The evidence presented today indicates that you are then innocent of the charges brought up against you."

Sirius hesitated.

"I told them to switch," he whispered. "I didn't know that Peter was… What he would do… But I told them to switch."

His final statement fell like a gavel on his sternum. The silence that filled the courtroom was suffocating. Everyone seemed frozen in time, while Sirius waited for Bones to speak. But Bones was not the first to speak, at least, not to address the court. He whispered to the man and the woman next to him, and the conversation was too hushed for Sirius to hear. Then the woman stood. Sirius felt that he should recognize her, but his mind was too blurred. She was not very tall, but her presence had command of the room as soon as she was on her feet.

"All in favor of rescinding the charges against Sirius Orion Black for the remainder of this trial."

Sirius felt something rock hard form in his throat. Hands were rising around the room, making Sirius dizzy trying to count. Dumbledore's was one, and after a moment, so was Mad-Eye. Was that half? More than half? The white-veiled hands remained unmoved, carved marble upon ebony knees-

"Motion passed," the witch announced. She nodded solemnly at someone behind Sirius.

It was the first guard. He produced a small key and inserted it into the handcuffs. Sirius watched, light-headed. Then the weight of the metal bracelets was gone.

"Mr. Black from this point in the trial onward, you will be treated as a witness, pending further evidence against you," the woman said. Her tone was gentle, nearly apologetic, but firm. "I will ask that you remain in this courtroom under guard until the proceedings are officially concluded. Do you understand?"

Sirius nodded. His tongue felt thick in his mouth, his hands feather-light without the cuffs.

"Please take a seat in the empty rows on your right."

A repetition of the painful shuffle, but with his new audience. The bench that they sat him on was hard. His guards took up a place on either side. Confused emotions swirled. He felt ill. The questioning had drained him of his meager energy for human interaction. But the trial was forcing him to focus, forcing him to push past whatever clinging effect the dementors had.

What was happening? Why was he here? What loose ends needed to be tied for him to be allowed to leave? _March 1986…_ it had been years. Years of thinking he was forgotten, that no one would come. Not even Remus, who probably hated him. Something had changed… something had happened, big enough to release Sirius from the hold of Azkaban, big enough to search for exonerating evidence-

"The Wizengamot now calls Peter Pettigrew forward."

The lightning shock of clarity ripped through Sirius.

* * *

 **That's all for now! Review with your thoughts and I'll be back with an update...eventually...**


	2. Truth, Deceit

**Happy New Year! Here's another chapter to kick off 2018! Thank you to those who reviewed/favorited/followed so far!**

 **-Cat**

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Chapter 2

Truth/Deceit

 _November 2, 1981_

"Did you have knowledge of Black's association with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"No."

"He came from a dark family, did he not? Surely you suspected that he was in league with the Death Eaters."

"I didn't."

"But you and Black were friends. It just… escaped your notice that he had joined their ranks?"

Silence.

"So you did suspect?"

"No."

" _There's a spy in the Order. Someone close."_

Did he?

"The Potters are dead. Peter Pettigrew is dead. And you are sitting here, _alive._ You understand how this looks, Mr. Lupin?"

"I do." Whispered.

"So you understand why I am having trouble believing that you had no knowledge of Black's betrayal?"

"Yes." He could barely answer. The sound was hissed, air forced through his jagged throat. Dark spots bloomed around the edges of his vision, bled together into a ugly mass. Was he suffocating?

"I will ask you again, then. Are you, Remus Lupin, an accomplice of Sirius Black and by proxy, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"No."

He wished he knew the time. He felt… separate from his body. Hollow. The hours spent in the metal chair numbed his bones and tissue. Four blank walls barred escape, a hard table between him and two aurors. Silver scratches stood out in the dull metal. The warrant for his weary answers to their questions lay open on the surface, a reminder that the proceedings were condoned by the Chief Warlock, keeper of justice. Bartemius Crouch's signature was scribbled carelessly across the line. Slip of paper, slip of tongue, bitter truth…

" _You're much more than this."_ Remus did not have the strength to recoil from _his_ voice. Sour bile rose in his mouth.

Remus was tired. Tired of answering. Tired of feeling.

The auror slammed his palm flat next to the warrant, making it flutter in the shifting air. Authorization was all the aurors needed. They were austere, dressed in interrogators robes. Asking the same question over and over.

"Did you help Black in any way?"

"No. Am I under arrest?"

The auror paused. His shadowed eyes flickered to his companion. "No."

"I've answered your questions. Several times. That's all that is required by your piece of paper."

"You can't leave until we are satisfied."

"If I'm not under arrest, you can't keep me here."

"Those rights are modified for someone with your classification suspected of aiding a traitor."

Remus looked down at the scratched table, blinking away the defeat and humiliation stinging in his eyes. Then he swallowed. "Can I have a glass of water?"

"We are not finished."

Remus exhaled wearily and leaned back against the back of the chair. The dark spots stayed stubbornly in place, floating like ink in water.

They began again, the questions unchanged, an exhausted mantra of denial. Cycles like the moon. Remus' head pounded. He wondered if it was midnight yet.

"Did you have knowledge of Black's association with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"Are you waiting for me to give up and say yes?"

"Mr. Lupin, if you do not cooperate, we will be forced to administer veritaserum before continuing this session."

Remus stared at the auror. He needed to leave. He needed to be sick. He needed his friends. Then he remembered where they were and why he was here.

"Fine," he said. Lowering his gaze back down to the scratched table.

"You will willingly submit to the truth serum?"

"Yes."

The auror nodded to his companion, who cleared his throat and knocked on the door that lead out of the room. It opened. There was a murmured conversation with someone outside, followed by uneven footsteps, a rhythm of stomping boot and the crack of wood on concrete. Remus did not need to look to know who it was. A tiny vial of crystal liquid was clenched in the gnarled hand of Alastor Moody. He did not speak to Remus. His face was hard, but Remus was long past expecting someone to care. What was another betrayal?

" _You're much more than this, Moony."_

The vial was uncorked and placed on the table with a soft chink. Then Moody retreated to the shadows and watched with an unaffected stare, black and radioactive blue.

Remus' hands shook when he reached for the vial, and he downed it in one gulp. The anesthetic effect on his thinking mind was something like relief. He floated even further away from himself.

"What is your name?"

"Remus Lupin."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-one."

"Are you a werewolf?"

"Yes."

"Who was the Secret Keeper for the Potters?"

"Sirius Black."

"Did you have any knowledge of Sirius Black's betrayal of the Potters before October 31, 1981?"

"No."

Beat.

"Have you ever been associated with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or his followers?

"No."

There was a pause. Remus' unfocused gaze rested on the door. Moody's face relaxed from the stony expression, his head bowed.

"Get another vial."

Moody's head snapped up and his gaze locked onto the head interrogator at the demand.

"One vial is enough," he growled.

"The wolf is stronger than a regular human. He may need more."

One of the aurors left, and Moody slipped outside behind him. Abandoned. The head interrogator stayed where he was, cold, unmerciful.

Then Moody returned and said gruffly to Remus, "Dumbledore is on his way."

Remus found that he was too far away to care.

* * *

 _March 21, 1986_

"The Wizengamot now calls Peter Pettigrew forward."

Through the heavy wooden door of Courtroom Ten came a second set of guards. Between them was a man that Sirius had imagined, had fantasized seeing again, over and over. Every revenge, everything he'd planned to do to him fled, washed out by a firestorm of anger. The hair that used to be blond was reduced to limp patches of matted gray. His paunchy cheeks hung pale beneath the same watery blue eyes that flitted back and forth. A well-fed stomach swelled against standard-issue clothing for the Ministry holding cells. Sweat stained the underarms and dripped down the front. He was shaking so hard, there might have been an earthquake only he felt.

" _You fucking bastard!_ "

Sirius could not recall standing, only that his guards were suddenly on either side of him, hands gripping his forearms tightly. His bizarre, fever-dream of the last day was sharpening into harsh realities. The courtroom was crystalline in its clarity. And the razor sharp focus was on the man entering the floor.

Peter startled so badly, that his own pair of guards had to hold him upright. His sunken eyes locked onto Sirius. There was a moment, barely a second, when Sirius could see it. Peter did not recognize him.

Then-

"S-Sirius?"

And there it was. The fear lay heavily on Peter's tongue and widened his eyes almost comically.

"Mr. Black, if you would please resume your seat," the Ministry witch instructed from her perch on the tall dais. Sirius was pulled back down, but he remained unsettled, as if seated on something burning hot, his spine ramrod straight. Once he had, she turned to Peter.

"He-he's lying," Peter was stammering. "W-whatever he told you, it was all lies!"

"Mr. Pettigrew," the witch interrupted sternly. "You are called before the Wizengamot today charged with perjury, betrayal of the Potters to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and the murders of twelve muggles."

"No! It was him!" Peter nearly shrieked. He yanked an arm free to point a grubby finger at Sirius. The third finger, giving half the court full view of the pale, glistening stump. "It was Sirius Black! He betrayed Lily and James, he's the reason-"

"Hold your tongue, Mr. Pettigrew," the austere woman demanded. The guards wrestled Peter into the chair. Then the inanimate chains glowed and came to life, snaking around Peter's twitching arms and holding him down. Sirius tasted something sour in the back of his throat.

"Mr. Bones, if you would proceed."

"Thank you, Minister Bagnold."

Bones stood. There was a darkness to his stern gaze. "Mr. Pettigrew, in the hearing yesterday, March twentieth, you made the following claims: You re-affirmed that Sirius Black was indeed the Secret Keeper of Lily and James Potter, that it was he who disclosed their location in Godric's Hollow, and that on November the first, 1981, Sirius Black caused the deadly explosion. You then stated that you falsified your own death and remained in hiding out of fear that you would be hunted down by the remainder of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's followers, in particular, those in league with Sirius Black. Do you stand by these claims?

"Yes," Peter squeaked.

"In our questioning of Mr. Black today, we have found his story to be quite different from yours."

"And you believed him?" Peter squawked. Any attempt at humor or incredulity was drowned by the pitch of terror.

"Mr. Black's tale is incredible, yes. However, his has less loose ends than your own, as well as some compelling physical evidence."

"Ph-physical evidence?" Peter stammered. His hands nervously clutched at the arms of the chair. The empty space where the missing finger should have been showed where the wood had been scratched by countless accused before him.

"Indeed," Bones said dryly. "Evidence which will be examined shortly. But first, I would like to go over a few points we discussed yesterday. In that interview you were asked about your whereabouts after the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. To this you responded that you had gone into hiding, fearing the wrath of his followers in the aftermath. Tell me, Mr. Pettigrew, if this is indeed the truth as you continue to claim, what had you done that made you fear retribution from the Death Eaters so much? Neither the Ministry nor the head of the Order of the Phoenix, Albus Dumbledore, can confirm a threat on your life."

"I-I was associated with the Potters. After what happened to the Longbottoms-"

There was a ripple through the courtroom. Sirius felt their resentment, swallowing. The Longbottoms had been well-loved. Peter had prodded a wound that still festered.

"Frank and Alice Longbottom were attacked nearly two weeks after the events of November first, much later than the time you say you chose to go into hiding."

"I-I couldn't-I thought that I would not find protection-"

"From whom?" Bones asked sharply.

"Anyone," Peter gasped.

"Not Albus Dumbledore? I have never known the man to turn away a former student in need. Not the Ministry or your schoolmates? Not Remus Lupin?"

"A w-werewolf," Peter jabbered.

"Your friend!" Sirius snapped from his seat. His response was automatic, uncontrolled. Fuelled by the painful absence of the man. Bones cleared his throat pointedly.

"So you sought no protection from the people closest to you," he stated. "Mr. Pettigrew you will note that most of the remaining Death Eaters were rounded up and put in Azkaban within the first few months of the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Why not come out of hiding then?"

"I-Not all of them. Many escaped j-justice."

The atmosphere of the room noticeably thickened. Moody's beady eye narrowed. In Azkaban, news rarely reached Sirius. He wondered how many former Death Eaters evaded prison, how many slipped through the faulty justice system like eels. Were there any in this room, marks concealed by a scarlet or black sleeve? His eyes flicked over the crowd staring coolly down at the shivering mess in the chair.

"That is correct, Mr. Pettigrew," Minister Bagnold acknowledged slowly. Peter's gaze snapped to her, his knees jerking. "Too many. Perhaps due to the fault of the Ministry's own employees. But we are learning from past mistakes. Still learning." Her dark eyes traveled deliberately to Dumbledore. "Will Artifact 1-a be brought to the floor once more?"

The clerk entered the floor once more, stepping again just to the left of the imprisoning chair. The professional solemnity of the proceedings left Sirius quivering with impatience. The court was still, almost content to observe the effect of the artifact, having seen it once before. As the box's lid was again opened, Peter's expression twitched, then fractured. His mouth opened and closed like a fish desperately searching for oxygenated water.

"Priori incantato."

The thunderous boom. And this time, Sirius thought he could hear the ghostly screams of the frightened muggles. Or perhaps that was a memory.

"Is this your wand, Mr. Pettigrew?"

Peter's mouth froze in the open position, jaw unhinged. The truth was written on his face, unarticulated. "I-" he managed. "I didn't-Yes, but h-he-" He sputtered into wheezing silence.

"Mr. Pettigrew, during the events of October thirty-first and November first, 1981, did you act as a Death Eater in the service of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

Again, Peter stammered a series of unconnected syllables. "I-I was-no, I c-couldn't…" The court was still, content to watch the interrogation. Bones let Peter whither under their gaze, but Sirius was impatient. He fidgeted, feeling the hardness of the bench, the growing pain in his stomach, the fringing of darkness at the edges of his vision. This needed to be finished before he passed out. He scanned the crowd again. Then a movement in his vision, a flash of white.

The man wearing the snowy gloves had shifted, his right hand flicking a speck of dust from the sleeve of his left arm. Sirius jolted.

"Does he have the dark mark?"

He had not realized he had spoken aloud. Heads turned to him and robes rustled.

"Until today, we did not have probable cause to check," Minister Bagnold explained. "But now we certainly do. Ellis, if you would..."

One of Peter's guards moved to roll up the sleeve of Peter's left arm.

"NO!" Peter shrieked, jerking away as if the guard wielded a hot poker. "Don't-Don't touch-You don't understand, he f-forced me. I was afraid, he would have killed me!"

"Then you should have died!" Sirius shouted. It was enough of a confirmation for him. Some dark creature was clawing at his skin, begging to be set free.

"Mr. Black!"

"James and Lily are _dead_ because of you!" he roared over the Minister. Years of rage and isolation came boiling from his mouth. "You were their friend! They trusted you!"

"Mr. Black control yourself!"

He barely heard her. His guards had a tight hold on his arms, Sirius desperately tried to jerk away, to leap over the rail separating him and the rat and strangle him. But his weakened state after Azkaban sapped him of strength. The guards wrestled him back as he blinked black spots from his eyes.

Dimly he heard Bagnold ask, "Mr. Pettigrew, are you admitting that it was you who betrayed Lily and James Potter to Voldemort?"

Peter was sweating. It beaded on his pallid forehead like grease, his eyes were wide and startled. Ellis the guard was still hovering at his left side, hands poised over the sleeve. Peter's panicked gaze flicked back and forth between Ellis, Minister Bagnold, and Sirius. But the damage had been done.

"H-he would have killed me," he repeated. His voice was several octaves higher after Sirius' outburst.

"The court will take that as a confirmation of the Minister's clarification," Mr. Bones stated. The pressure in Courtroom Ten increased. It was like being at the bottom of a vat of thickened tar. Suddenly, not a single eye in the room was turned in Sirius' direction except the electric blue of Mad-Eye's magical replacement.

"And do you admit to using the blasting curse on the street on November the first, 1981, thereby killing twelve muggles within the vicinity?"

"Y-yes. B-but it was self-defense-"

"Mr. Pettigrew," rolled Everard Bones' voice over the excuse. "Based on the testimony presented here today by Mr. Sirius Black, in combination with your own defense and the testimony of Arthur Weasley, the Wizengamot sees fit to vote on the decision to convict you of the following crimes: the betrayal of the Potters to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, murder in the first degree of twelve muggles, in so doing breaking the statute of secrecy, as well as framing an innocent man of these crimes."

Hands rose into the air. Still, the Wizengamot did not look his way, but Sirius hardly noticed. His head was spinning dizzily. He watched Peter wail with protests from the end of a blurred tunnel.

"Peter Pettigrew, you are hereby sentenced to life in Azkaban without parole." Irons were clapped on the shaking wrists. He was openly sobbing…

Then Sirius felt it. The penetrating, cold, sucking at him greedily. It was a dream. Despair crushed into the ground. His limbs went numb and the voices filled his head once more.

" _Nice one, James!"_

" _Lily and James, Sirius, how could you?!"_

" _I hate you!"_

Then they were abruptly drowned out by a silver light that filled his vision. A patronus. Blood rushed to his head, the room was back with startling clarity. Sirius caught only a glimpse of a dark cloak fluttering from the room as Peter was lead away by the dementors. His whimpering cries echoed through the glossy corridor.

Finally, the people of the court had their eyes fixed on him, as he trembled violently from the shock of the dementors. From the shock of knowing that he was free. The Chief Warlock had said he was an innocent man.

"Mr. Black."

He turned his gaze to Minister Bagnold with slow care. She regarded him solemnly, with a hint of shame in those dark, commanding eyes.

"You will be issued a formal apology from the Ministry of Magic and compensation amounting to four and a half years salary in your previous position as an auror, plus an additional two years. Headmaster Dumbledore has taken the liberty of setting up temporary accommodations for the next month, should you need a place to stay." Her voice was unwavering, monotonous. But then, she paused, a break in her composure.

"I realize that money will never atone for the vast miscalculation on the Ministry's part. I do not speak for the rest of the persons present, when I say this… but I am deeply sorry, Mr. Black, for your loss."

Something hard broke inside of Sirius. He managed a short nod as reality fell away. He did not have time to check again for Remus, to see if the white-gloved man was still there. An overwhelming feeling swept across his chest and he surrendered to the blessedly quiet darkness.

* * *

 **a/n: leave a review if you have time! It really does help me write faster :) Until next time!**


	3. Moon, Sun

**Thank you again for your reviews! It's so good to hear from new people and familiar ones (siriusly, if you are a returning reader, I am so flattered and humbled and love you a lot!) :) Here's chapter 3...**

 **-Cat**

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Chapter 3

Moon/Sun

 _November 11, 1981_

He found a place far from civilization. A barn, abandoned for years, with a sturdy storm cellar dug on the north side. He spent the day before on reconstruction and magical fortification of the cellar, detached from the ritual, and yet wholly concentrated. He reported the location to the Department of Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures per the conditions of his release from Ministry custody.

Then he sat alone in the moorish wilderness and waited for dusk.

It was freezing outside. Tiny flakes of white drifted across the gray-brown landscape and the atmosphere sparkled with crystallized frost. But his coat was warm, a gift from James and Lily two Christmases ago. This made it a little heavier than usual. Remus drew it tighter, keeping out the cold and exhaustion. He concentrated on breathing, watching the vapor condense into clouds in the filtered sunlight. He felt nothing, really, but his hands would not stop shaking.

"You turned down Dumbledore's offer."

Remus twitched. He had not noticed the other wizard's approach, which was somewhat alarming. Perhaps there was something irreparably broken inside of him, drawing him further and further away from reality.

He did not notice much of anything anymore.

"The Shrieking Shack is too close to Hogwarts," Remus muttered. He kept the truth buried. He could not bear to transform there ever again.

"He's worried about you. Minerva too. They weren't sure where you'd gone. And Frank tells me you've been avoiding him and Alice."

"What are you doing here?" Remus asked stiffly, diverting the conversation.

There was a slight pause of hesitation. "I'm checking on you."

"Why?"

"Do I really need to answer that?"

Remus shrugged. "How did you find me?"

"I checked the records at the Department of the Control and Regulations of Magical Creatures. This place is too isolated from help for… afterwards. You're exiling yourself."

"That's the point."

"You should not be alone."

Remus laughed at that, a harsh and bitter bark hurled across the frozen wasteland. "You'd be dead by midnight."

"I don't mean tonight. I mean at all."

"Doesn't matter. Haven't you noticed what happens to my friends lately?" Remus spat, resentment welling like sour bile in the back of his throat.

"Self-pity is not a good look on you, Lupin."

"I didn't ask your opinion."

"It's freely given."

"What the hell do you want, Moody?" Remus demanded. The wolf was nearing the surface, snarling with hunger and mania and deep, deep pain. Remus was losing the fight for control. And he was not sure he wanted to win this time.

"You're angry."

"Yes, I am." He hated that he was, but it was the only thing he could feel besides the bottomless chasm in his chest. So he clung to it like a lifeline.

"I suppose I won't begrudge you that." The older wizard stumped into view, ignoring the brambles catching on his robes. The light was turning golden, alighting on his grizzled mane of straw. "Who are you angry at?"

"Does it matter?"

"It helps to name it."

"Shove off."

Moody seemed unimpressed by his rudeness. He stared over the moorland in the dying sunlight and sighed heavily.

"It was unfair to you, Lupin. That night, the interrogation. I should have stopped them sooner but… I had to be sure."

Remus' teeth clenched against another wave of fury. No, that had not been fair. It had taken Dumbledore nearly another hour to secure his release. By then, Remus had been trapped in that godforsaken room for nearly eight hours combined.

"And before that even," Mad-Eye was saying. "I judged you harshly. But it seems that the war has proven me fallible, both with you and… and with Black. I'm here to apologize."

"I've had my fill of empty apologies," Remus murmured, suddenly so, so tired. The funerals were flooded with them, running over into the graveyards like a flood of quick, harmful jabs. " _I'm so sorry."_ That you're alone. That you lost everything. That no one wants to fill that empty space.

Except…

" _Anything you need, please come to us."_

"I mean it," Moody said gruffly. "Though it might be worth nothing to you right now."

Remus had nothing more to say. The shadows in the heathland deepened, the moon pulled. Fear rose in Remus' gut, primal and stronger than usual, overtaking his rage. Every survival instinct he had was screaming at him not to lock himself in that storm cellar with his monster. Was the wolf in as much pain as he was?

" _You're much more than this, Moony."_ Remus almost sobbed as that damned voice rose again, unbidden and unwanted. It was a lie, all of it. Anything Sirius had ever said, twisted by that betrayal. God, he would never be rid of him.

Right now, this was all that he was.

"I have to go," he whispered around his tight throat. Mechanically, he stripped the coat away, numb to the rush of raw air. He folded it neatly and put it in the bag he had brought. He faced Moody wearily. "You really should leave."

Moody met his gaze. He knew what the wolf was capable of. The battle-scarred auror had seen the aftermath of many werewolf attacks. The concern Remus saw in the lines drawn into the auror's face was wrenchingly genuine. For the millionth time, Remus desperately wished for James and Peter to be there. Even Sirius, the Sirius Remus thought he knew, the one who still told the truth. He would do anything to bring them back.

But there was nothing he could do except keep living.

"I'm not dying tonight," Remus quietly assured Moody.

The auror exhaled, a puff of fog on the dimming atmosphere.

"I'll be back in the morning," Moody said, and it sounded like a promise.

Then Remus was alone in the wilderness. Except for the wolf, pushing at his skin, insistent, confined, gasping for release. He stripped away the rest of his clothes, his civility. This went in the bag as well as his wand. He hid the bag in the underbrush then stumbled weakly to the storm cellar. His hands shook so violently that he could barely open the hatch. But he managed, and tried not to think about how it looked like a grave, yawning to swallow him whole.

The hatch slammed shut, cutting of the sound of animals, wind, life. He and the earth were spinning away from the sun in the dark, momentum unchecked, crashing into the glare of moonlight.

Remus fought. He always did, some terrible instinct to save himself, to defy the inevitable. There were seconds of panic, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Then the monster rushed on him with a tempest, crumbling his will and obliterating his mind.

A long mournful howl went unanswered. Moony realized then, the deepness of his loneliness, here in the belly of the earth.

His rage turned inwards.

* * *

 _March 22, 1986_

For the first time in over four years, Sirius woke to sunlight. Every emotion was raw, too close to a surface scraped powder-thin. The slightest disturbance would expose them like festering wounds. And the sunlight, the buttery color of it streaming through gauzy curtains, nearly undid him.

Free.

The thought was too much, so Sirius pushed it deep, deep down for later. Otherwise he might start laughing. Or crying.

Swallowing a painful lump in his throat, he levered himself up with shaking elbows. Then he sat. The bed was plain, clean white sheets tucked over a mattress. Someone had opened the window, allowing a sweet, chilly breeze to slip into the room. The smell of earth after a long, hard winter.

And the sun. It was much more golden than Sirius remembered.

A glass on the bedside table caught it, bent it into a pattern on the wood. Sirius realized he was terribly thirsty. There was a china pitcher filled to the brim. He slopped water into the glass with a quavering hand, then gulped it down in seconds.

" _Slow down, Padfoot. You'll make yourself sick."_

Sirius ignored the voice that sounded like Remus and refilled the glass.

" _Oh let him be, Moons. He fainted in front of everyone. Again. Azkaban didn't care about hydration."_

James was harder to ignore. Sirius knew that his jest was not real, but why was the pain of it so physical? He shakily replaced the glass and pushed himself to his feet. The room spun, but he was determined to make it to the washroom.

The tiles were cool and smooth beneath his feet, which were soft and sensitive from disuse. He stared down at them, bare and bony, scaled with dirt and dry skin and sores. He kept his gaze downwards until he had crossed to the shower. He was still not prepared to see his reflection in the silver plane of the mirror.

The warm water felt like silk. It ran black in the porcelain tub, then gray, and finally clear. But some filth of Azkaban remained, clinging deeper than skin. His hair was matted and long, impossible to untangle, so Sirius settled for scraping as much dirt and dead skin from his body before standing under the water. He did not know how much time passed, but he stood, trance-like, until the water ran cool. Then he toweled himself dry, finally ready to face his reflection.

A stranger stared out of the glass. He was skeletal, wasted away. No wonder Peter had barely recognized him. The tattoos on his bony chest were faded and limp. His skin was like waxen sheets on his skull, his eyes sunken, giving him the look of a deranged prisoner. Perhaps he still was. Trapped by the voices in his head. Gingerly, he touched his matted hair, the places on his scalp where the mane had tangled so much it pulled away from skin. The patches of skin were red-raw and irritated.

" _You need a haircut, mate,"_ said James.

"Shut up, Prongs," Sirius muttered. Fresh clothes had been neatly folded below the washstand, and Sirius gladly donned them. He glanced down at his prison garb, crumbled in the corner like a compost heap. It would need to be burned as soon as possible.

He went back into the bedroom and stumbled towards the exit. But when he made it across the room, he paused, steadying himself against the doorframe. He pondered the gleaming knob. Fear that it would be locked flooded him. His hand hovered, ghost-white and skeletal over the brass.

But before he could make a decision, there was a soft knock.

"Come in," he rasped. The door was opened without any clicks or jangle of keys or incantations. Perhaps it truly was unlocked. He quickly shook away the unbalanced feeling it gave him.

He was not surprised to see Dumbledore. As soon as the tall, bearded Headmaster stepped into the room, Sirius only had one, burning question.

"Where is Harry?"

The corner of the elderly wizard's lip twitched, but there was no customary twinkle in his blue eyes. The wizard quietly observed Sirius before answering, seeing again the sharp, hollowed out skull that he had become. Sirius glared back, determined to get an answer. Finally, Dumbledore sighed and lowered his gaze.

"Sirius, I promise that your godson is in safe-keeping. You need to take time to recover, to rest before you think about-"

"Safe-keeping where?" Sirius asked stubbornly.

"Sirius, you've been through a trauma that-"

"Where is he?" Sirius demanded through clenched teeth. "With Remus?" It was a silly, ridiculous hope, but one that he'd indulged. That Harry was cared-for and loved, that Remus had some purpose, a reason to carry on-

"No, Harry is not with Remus." There was a hesitation in Dumbledore's response. "He is with his relatives in Little Whinging, Petunia and-"

"What the hell?!" The outburst was sudden, angry. He felt uncontrolled, but did not care. "No, no way. How dare you leave him with them?! She hated Lily, she always did. She wanted nothing to do with her!"

"But she agreed to take the child," Dumbledore replied. His voice was level and reasonable. Sirius knew better than to listen. He barely heard the rest of Dumbledore's explanation, rubbish about blood wards and protection from avenging Death Eaters.

Sirius reeled away angrily, preparing to apparate to Surrey, when he remembered that his wand had been snapped in half.

"Take me to him now," he ordered coldly.

"No," Dumbledore said, simply.

"He's my godson!"

"You are exhausted, malnourished, grieving, and dare I say still in shock," Dumbledore stated bluntly, utterly unphased by Sirius' outrage. "I am in no way saying that you are not capable of fulfilling your duties as a godfather. I am saying that you need time to process."

"I don't need bloody time _,_ I _need_ to see my godson!"

"Do not argue with me, Sirius. We can discuss this further once you have eaten something."

At the mention of food, the painful emptiness of Sirius' stomach returned with enough force to make his head swim again. He swayed in place. A part of him registered that his body would shut down if he went much longer without any nourishment. But _Harry…_

Dumbledore's hard gaze softened. He took Sirius' elbow in a gentle grip and guided him through the open door and into a dim hallway. There were no pictures in the bedroom, and none in the hallway either, besides a trio of painted flowers. A dizzying aroma drifted from the room at the end of the hallway, which was glowing with golden light. It was a small kitchen, complete with a breakfast corner set with a table and three chairs. Through the bay of gauzy-curtained windows, Sirius glimpsed a tangle of bushes and an open field. The amount of space was daunting.

A woman was working at the stove, an apron tied in a neat bow around her waist. A plethora of flaming orange curls were held back from her face in a scrunchie. The color was not quite the same as Lily's deep crimson, but it was close enough for the bottom of his stomach to drop out.

"Smells tempting, Molly," Dumbledore commented as they entered.

The woman, Molly, started and spun. "Thank you, Albus," she said with a warm crinkle around her eyes, but her gaze was locked onto Sirius. After several seconds, she seemed to realize that she was staring. She hurriedly wiped her hands on her apron and cast about for something else to do. She settled on setting out a bowl and spoon with a noisy clatter.

"Molly, this is Sirius Black. Sirius, meet Molly Weasley."

Sirius nodded his head. She gave him a small, nervous smile. She was definitely familiar, but he was not sure why he felt that he'd seen her before. "Weasley?" he asked hoarsely.

"Yes," Dumbledore answered. "I'm sure you'll want to hear the full story, but it is her and her husband, Arthur, that you'll want to thank for your freedom. Apparently Peter had been living in their house as a pet rat for several years before an incident involving some rather extraordinary accidental magic revealed him."

"Oh," Sirius managed through his tightening throat. He could picture it, Peter living in comfort, forgetting his life as a man, apathetic to the chaos he had caused. A surge of resentment must have twisted his face.

"But enough of that kind of talk," Molly said hurriedly. She used her wand to direct something like a broth into the bowl on the counter. "Sit, Sirius. You're thinner than a broom handle, but we'll fix that in a snap."

A little bewildered by her motherly air, Sirius followed her to the little table and she pushed him into a chair, the steaming bowl in front of him.

"You will not eat that in one go, understand?" she ordered. "Slow sips or you'll make yourself sick."

 _She and Remus would get along,_ Sirius thought dryly. He carefully balanced some of the amber liquid on his spoon and sipped it. The broth was hot, but packed with an overwhelming amount flavors. "Whoa," he said, involuntarily. "That's-"

"Oh don't mention it, dear," she said. Her demeanor had softened completely, whatever nerves of meeting an ex-criminal vanished.

"Molly has volunteered to help get you back on your feet in terms of proper meals," Dumbledore explained and a twinkle in his eye.

"Oh, you don't have to-"

"It's the least I can do after fattening that despicable rat for four years," she said, waving her hand. "Besides, my brothers were always quite fond of you."

Suddenly Sirius realized why she was so familiar. The sister of Gideon and Fabian Prewett. She had their nose and forehead and red hair. He had seen her before, at their funerals, pale-faced and teary-eyed.

"Thank you," he said softly.

"It's not a problem, dear."

He concentrated on eating then, his stomach groaning in pleasure as the broth filled it. Molly busied herself with cleaning, keeping a light conversation with the Headmaster. Sirius listened to the ease of it with a small amount of wonder and a feeling of separation. It was so painfully normal, to be sitting in this kitchen, hearing about Bill's Hogwarts classes, Arthur's job, the Marauder-like instincts of her twins, who were turning eight in a month.

When the broth was gone and his stomach pleasantly warm, Sirius finally interrupted when their discussion of the first Weasley girl in several generations reached a natural end. His mind could only concentrate on one thing.

"Harry," he said pointedly to Dumbledore.

Dumbledore glanced at Molly. Then he exhaled and said firmly, "I would never dare to deny you your right as his godfather Sirius, and I will do everything in my power to ensure that you have the support you need. There are a few things, however, than need to be taken care of. First of all, what do you think of your current lodgings?"

Sirius briefly cast his eyes over the place. "It's fine," he answered shortly. He would not be distracted. Dumbledore, however, seemed content to further describe their location, much to Sirius' annoyance.

"We are out a couple kilometers from Ottery St. Catchpole. It's a muggle town, but you'll find quite a few wizarding families live in the area, including the Weasleys. Their son Ron is Harry's age. The place could use some sprucing up, but I'm sure those details can be worked out in the long run. Your uncle Alphard personally assured monetary support for you as you get back on your feet, whether it be here or anywhere else. Do you think you'll stay?"

Sirius was struggling to understand why Dumbledore was so intent on the question. "What does it matter where we live?"

Dumbledore's jaw tightened, only noticeable because of the way the glinting light in his beard changed. His head lowered. "We are dogged by shadows," he murmured, so quietly, Sirius wondered if he was speaking to himself. Then he met Sirius' eyes again. "Despite appearances, Voldemort is not gone, Sirius, only defeated. And though many of his servants are imprisoned Azkaban, I fear that some slipped the net. It matters where you live, because Harry's placement with Petunia Dursley was mostly because of the protection of her blood relation to his mother. If he moves in with you, we will need to prepare new protection."

"Oh," Sirius said, struggling to take it in. He still did not understand Dumbledore's references to blood protection, his ominously lingering fear for the Boy-Who-Lived. "Then yes, we'll stay here."

"Then it's settled," Molly said in a rush, before Dumbledore could respond. In fact, she even gave him a stern glare. "Harry will stay here with Sirius. Of course, he will need to get back on his feet." She gave Sirius an appraising look, and Sirius felt suddenly self-conscious. "But Arthur and I will be around to help. I don't like the sound of these Dursley folks."

"You've been eavesdropping, Molly," Dumbledore said lightly.

"It isn't eavesdropping when I'm in the kitchen and Mr. Black is hollering in the bedroom," she said primly. "I can't help what I hear."

"True enough," said Dumbledore. Then he turned again to Sirius. "So lodgings are settled. I'll come by with Filius later this week to set wards on the place. And I'm going to stipulate that you take at least a week to adjust. Eat and rest. This is a huge transition. Allow some of the fuss of the wizarding public to blow over. Raising a child is not easy, Sirius, and the press will be quick to criticize. The idea of putting the Boy-Who-Lived in the custody with a newly exonerated criminal will seem irresponsible, especially after the years spent in Azkaban. Who knows if your mind escaped unscathed."

"I'm not mad," Sirius protested angrily.

"I know you're not," Dumbledore responded. "I'm just saying what some members of the press will likely imply. I want you to be prepared for that. So, give them a week to get some of this out of their system, a week for you to recover your bearings, then we'll talk."

Sirius swallowed. One week. Now that his stomach was full, his thoughts were less frenetic and jumbled. Sirius could do one week. He did not give a thought to the difficulties of raising Harry. This is what James and Lily would have wanted for their son. What he wanted. A small part of Sirius relaxed, knowing that at least he would not have to fight Dumbledore for Harry.

Then another thought struck him, another missing piece. One that should be here, perhaps chatting good-naturedly with Molly, maybe helping him talk Dumbledore down from a whole week of recovery. One that he needed to be here, because… because _fuck him_ , the old man was right. He was messed up (much more than he used to be). He was barely free of the dementors and yet they clung like shadows to his hair, his clothes, his brain… He was missing four and a half years of time, gained four and a half years of nightmares and ghosts and twisted insides… _I can't do this alone._

"What about…" Sirius hesitated once more because, _why wasn't he here?_ "What about Remus?"

The question hung in the air, somehow much heavier than Sirius had expected. Dumbledore sighed and his gaze drew down to the top of his hands resting on the table.

"Sirius…" Dumbledore began slowly.

 _He hates you,_ supplied a nasty voice in Sirius' head. _You lied to him, you left him alone. He's not here because he can't forgive you for this._

"The last contact anyone had with Remus Lupin was three years ago."

Sirius stared, his inner self-deprecation cut off. Surprise flooded him. "What… what do you mean? No one knows where he is?"

"He kept mostly to himself, but-"

"He just took off? Alone?" Sirius demanded, loudly. Old fears surfaced, old worries he had shared with James, about what would happen to the werewolf if left to his own devices. "And no one looked for him? For _three whole years?!_ I have to… we have to find him-"

"We looked, Sirius," Dumbledore said quietly. Sadly. "There was an official investigation, but the evidence that was uncovered…" He paused and tried again. "There were some troubling circumstances surrounding his disappearance. "

"No." Sirius was aware that his hands were trembling and clasped them tightly. "You didn't look hard enough. Remus is smart, if he wants to disappear-He'll come now, you'll see. My release will be in the papers. He'll read them and-"

"He won't come," Dumbledore interrupted. "Sirius…"

It was a soft entreaty. Sirius looked up at the elderly wizard, suddenly afraid he was not ready to hear what the Headmaster was going to say.

"No. No, don't-"

"He's been presumed dead," Dumbledore said gently. "Remus isn't coming, Sirius."

And- _oh God_ -the casualty inside of him was blinding.

* * *

 **A/N: Dun, dun, dun... Ok, so you probably saw that one coming because of the description, haha. I'll hopefully have time to upload one more chapter before my classes start up next week, so stay tuned. I'm excited to get this story really moving in terms of relationships between characters and a little more mystery/action!**

 **Post a review if you have time!**


	4. Break, Salve

**So sorry about the wait! I was going to post earlier, but I caught a nasty bout of flu. I couldn't even look at my phone for a few days without being sick... so that was probably more information than you needed, but there you go.**

 **THANKS to my reviewers! You made me smile and helped me get back in the saddle after that miserable hiatus. Love and appreciate you all!**

 **-Cat**

* * *

Chapter 4

Break/Salve

 _November 15, 1981_

He woke piece by piece.

The first piece was paralyzing pain, blazing with such disorientating intensity that the sources were difficult to separate. It was everywhere. Hours of fading in and out like a telescope struggling to focus, until the pain resolved like points of white light in his anatomy. Four long, ragged wounds ripped diagonally down his chest, one scraping ribs and chipping the top of his pelvis. His femur was shattered glass, his radius fractured. And everywhere, everywhere skin parted in brief strokes, face, neck, arms, feet.

The second piece was the rest of his weary senses. Hearing mumbles, muffled, clinking, steps. Sterile smell, sterile whiteness, sterile blurs. Taste like sand and vomit and cotton and metal.

The third piece was his humanity. Language and people so close he could feel their warmth and wonder who they were. Wonder if it was James or Sirius or Peter. Was the flash of deepest red Lily's hair or was it another blood-soaked bandage? Was the silence the hush for a baby's sleep?

The fourth piece was not a piece at all, but rather an emptiness that settled furtively beneath it all. Unexplained. Unfathomable. He did not understand where it had come from, what had left it behind until… until the fifth piece.

The fifth piece was heartbreak.

Remus wished he never woke at all.

But it was much too late for that.

He stared at the ceiling for a long time, allowing the healers to come and go with their potions and fresh bandages. A mediwitch briefly explained his injuries, that it had been four days since full moon, and that he was extremely lucky. Remus did not need to be told that Alastor Moody was the only reason he was still alive.

No one tried to speak to him after that, which suited him just fine. Besides, what would they say to the werewolf that had tried to tear himself limb from limb? He was placed in a solitary room, unadorned by any frills, devoid of windows. Through the thin door he could hear the hospital function like an oblivious, well-oiled machine.

He slept again, woke again, this time all at once, every piece in its place.

Plus another.

At his bedside sat the tall silhouette that had become so familiar in his time at Hogwarts. His presence was not a comfort, but it was something. The room was dark now and the hallway quiet. Remus guessed that it was very late, well past the appointed visitor hours. Clearly Albus Dumbledore did not need to comply with these guidelines.

"How are you feeling?" the wizard asked softly.

There were a million ways Remus could answer that question. The effort of choosing one was more than he was willing to give. He stayed silent, staring at the ceiling again.

"I'm sorry." A grave, exhausted exhale. It was an alien sound from the older wizard.

Remus did not know what Dumbledore was apologizing for, but did not question it. The quiet stretched on again, but in the midst of the numbness that had spread through his soul, Remus remembered the one thing that still mattered.

"James-" he paused and swallowed with difficulty, watched by that penetrating blue gaze. He refused to look. His throat convulsed around scratchy dryness. "James and Lily wouldn't want Harry to live with the Dursleys."

"Remus…" The compassion in the Headmaster's voice was painful. "You know the Ministry won't let you take him."

Remus dropped his gaze to his battered body, forcing himself to see the truth written in the scars and stained bandages. No, the Boy-Who-Lived should not be raised by a monster. But he deserved someone who loved him. At least Remus could give him that.

"If I could sway their prejudice, you know I would," Dumbledore said gently. "But besides the Ministry, living with his blood relatives is his best chance for protection from Voldemort."

"Voldemort is gone," Remus stated without feeling. Still after two weeks, no triumph rose in his chest, no relief at the words that the rest of the wizarding world felt. For the werewolf, it was a pyrrhic victory, barely worth acknowledgement

"He's not dead," Dumbledore replied into the silence. "He'll come back."

Remus stopped breathing for several heartbeats. Then the knowledge solidified like a leaden blanket on his shoulders. Inescapable.

"No, he can't-" The denial was childish. A defense, and Dumbledore saw through it immediately.

"He will. I'm not the only one who believes that." He paused and inhaled slowly. When he spoke again, it was a softy entreaty. "Remus."

Remus lifted his eyes slowly from his broken form draped in thin sheets to finally look at Dumbledore for the first time. He had not seen him since the Ministry released him into the Headmaster's custody. The shadows in the old man's face were dark chasms. Purple bruises of exhaustion hung from his eyes. And there was a tight set to his mouth, far too tight. Something was wrong.

"What's happened?" Remus whispered.

Dumbledore spoke smoothly, without breaking eye contact. "Frank Longbottom was captured by Death Eaters the night of the full moon. The auror department and what remains of the Order have been unable to locate him."

Remus could not speak. Air was vanishing from his lungs. How was it possible to feel loss in his numbed state?

"And Alice?" he choked out.

" _Anything you need, please come to us."_

Alice's words. The invitation was spoken gently in his ear as he stood on the freshly turned earth of James and Lily's grave. At the time, her soft voice had been buried underneath his load of grief and anger, but it returned suddenly, which the phantom warmth of her hand on his shoulder. Remus had not even noticed how it was anchoring him until now.

"She disappeared from their home this morning. The perimeter alarms sounded, but the aurors got there too late."

The line snapped and Remus felt like he was falling. He heard himself ask after Neville. Dumbledore's responded that he was with Frank's mother, and Remus nodded absently.

"Please find them." If it sounded like he was begging, Remus did not care.

"We're doing our best."

"Do better."

Suddenly his voice was hard, ugly, angry. But Dumbledore didn't even flinch.

"We'll do better," he said, so gently it nearly undid Remus. He felt it, the burning in his eyes that he had not felt since… since the night he learned that his friends were gone. But it always stopped at the burning. Tears never came. They were not enough.

* * *

 _March 23, 1986_

 _falling falling falling-_

" _No-no he can't be, he was supposed to be here."_

A heavy blanket of fog clung to Diagon Alley in the gloaming morning. Despite the early hour, the streets were already filled with a steady current of witches and wizards, briskly tramping to work or completing errands that could only be squeezed in at the crack of dawn. In the fashion of the wizarding world, most wore various shades of black or green. The more flamboyant colors were muted by the thick colloid of droplets.

" _I'm so sorry, Sirius-"_

Sirius shivered. As grateful as he was for the dewy veil of obscurity, the fog made him feel ill. He hunched his shoulders and repeated again to himself that it was natural. This was not the byproduct of a dementor's breeding ground. Don't panic. Don't panic.

 _Don't panic._

And yet he could feel it like a hot coal in his throat.

" _-he's gone."_

 _burning-_

"Right, then," chirped Arthur Weasley at his side. Sirius quickly concealed the jerk of surprise at the man's sudden addressment. "I just need to go to Gringotts and the apothecary for Molly. Will you need to visit the bank first?"

"No, I have enough," Sirius answered hoarsely. Dumbledore had taken the liberty of withdrawing enough galleons from Sirius' account to get him on his feet without needing to visit the bank. The elderly wizard's hovering was annoying, but Sirius was thankful that he could skip the harrowing ride into the dark caverns. Somehow, he knew he would not be able to stomach it today.

"Well, I'll walk with you to Ollivander's," Arthur replied cheerfully.

Sirius nodded. Without a wand, Sirius was unable to do anything magical for himself. And right now, he needed his independence.

Travel was especially slow. Dumbledore had been very disinclined to provide any floo powder, and had bluntly explained to Sirius that he did not trust him to avoid doing anything rash. To Sirius' displeasure, Molly Weasley backed Dumbledore firmly and would not be wheedled into bringing some from the Burrow. So, Arthur volunteered to let him side-along to the Alley.

Sirius glanced at his new acquaintance. His receding hair was even more orange than Molly's and his proportions were stretched and gangly. His long arms swung at his sides as he walked. He was a humble man, and set Sirius at ease instantly upon meeting him that morning.

Sensing that Sirius had no desire to talk (or anything pleasant to talk about), Arthur was content to tell him about the fascinating mechanisms behind muggle automobiles. Apparently he was dissecting one in secret behind his garage.

"Molly would be furious if she found out. Woman has quite a temper," he said fondly. But with a Marauder-like wink, he continued, "But it is thrilling to take apart and meddle with. Such wondrous machinery! Purely out of curiosity of course, I would never return the vehicle to the muggle world."

Sirius smiled to himself, thinking of his motorbike and wondering if Hagrid still had it. If he did, perhaps Arthur would like to have a go at it. It could be fun, sneaking around behind Molly's back, as if they were still in Hogwarts.

 _They're gone._

Depression crashed down on him so suddenly, Sirius' gate hitched. Arthur glanced at him, but did not break his steady monologue about the ingenuity of the motor. The man's instincts were good. The last thing Sirius wanted was for anyone to ask if he was okay. He would not even know how to begin answering that question and the alternative was the perfunctory lie of "I'm fine." It took a little more out of him every time he said it.

He was most assuredly not fine. He hated the Ministry for its reckless injustice. He hated Pettigrew with everything in his being. He hated Molly's kindness, Dumbledore's control, Harry's absence. He hated James and Lily for dying. He hated himself for bringing it about.

And most of all, he hated Remus for leaving him all alone.

Alone to deal with his hatred. To deal with the filthy, clinging darkness under his skin. The beast of Azkaban that held to his tissue with barbs, impossibly tangled up with himself.

So what if he wasn't there?

He still wasn't _free_ of it.

He was haunted by its tunnels, by its sickness, by the whispers of the dead he never mourned. It had only been two days, but Sirius was beginning to wonder if Azkaban would ever leave him. If he would ever be able to live again.

Damn Remus for letting him rot in prison for four and a half years.

For being the innocent one.

For making him do this alone.

 _Damn you, Moony._

Sirius drew his breath in sharply, suddenly afraid he would start to cry. God, he missed Remus. He could not be dead. He had lost nearly everything, but he had emerged from Azkaban with his mind. If he gave in to that one thing… if he allowed himself to grieve, he was afraid-he was certain-that he would lose his mind as well.

"Well, here we are," Arthur said suddenly, his voice changing pitch from the comforting drone. It broke through Sirius' whirl of thought. He looked up to see the frosted window, "Ollivander's" painted in large letters. "Hopefully you'll be done before me, but you never know. Wands are fickle, aren't they?"

"Took him only five minutes last time," Sirius replied absently, peering into the gloom of the shop through the window. There was no movement inside, but he was not fooled.

"People change. You've lost more than just a wand, Sirius," Arthur commented, hinting that he knew the train of thought he'd interrupted. He rocked back and forth on his heels, then announced, "Well, I'm off. You know where I'll be."

Sirius waved, then resumed staring into the shop, bizarrely nervous. It was like he was eleven all over again. But at least three people at had stopped on the street to do a double-take at the newly liberated prisoner of Azkaban, so Sirius forced himself to go inside.

A ghostly bell tinkled deep in the shop. Ollivander was already drifting around the corner. His eyes shone like silver coins, reminding Sirius abruptly of the strange man in the courtroom, but less sinister somehow. Candyfloss hair billowed like a cloud around the impossibly ancient face. His thin lips stretched in a knowing smile.

"Sirius Black," he whispered. "I was wondering when you would come. Pity they snapped the old one, hmmm? Such a perfect match. Dragon heartstring and blackthorn. Twelve inches. Stubborn, inflexible. Well-suited to a wizard of your strength and caliber."

Sirius was not sure what to make of this. " _Dodgy bloke, if you ask me,"_ quipped James in the back of his head.

"But now… perhaps a change would be good," Ollivander said. He walked briskly to the shelves of slender boxes, muttering to himself as he selected dusty containers and set them on the counter.

"When was the last time you performed any magic, Mr. Black?" questioned the wandmaker. As he bustled around the shop, his measuring tape floated from around his neck and began measuring Sirius' arms and fingers.

"Er…" Sirius hesitated. "I don't know…"

"Did you manage any accidental magic in Azkaban?" Ollivander asked. His coin-bright eyes became sharp and inquisitive. "Not very common, but it has been known to happen when things become… too much," he stated delicately.

"I could transform sometimes," Sirius admitted. It had made things bearable.

"Ah yes, of course, your animagus form. Difficult magic without a wand. Impressive."

"I can't do it all the time," Sirius said. "Only in Azkaban, and only a few times." In the few days since his release, he longed for the soothing simplicity of his canine thoughts. But he was unable to transform. It was solely in his most utterly desperate moments in the wizarding prison that he had been able slip into his dog form.

"No," Ollivander agreed in his feather light voice. "Magic like that usually manifests under great duress… Oh enough of that, now." The measuring tape that was now checking the circumference of each of Sirius' fingers dropped to the floor. "But it shows that you are indeed a powerful wizard, Mr. Black. Let's see," hummed the wandmaker. He pulled a wand from the first box with spindly fingers. "Dragon heartstring and black oak. Fourteen inches. Firm."

Sirius took the wand and gave it a wave. The temperature in the room dropped so low that he could see his breath. A shiver of fear traveled up his spine...

"No, I think not." Ollivander snatched the wand away and hand him a second. "Phoenix feather and ash. Thirteen inches, quite springy."

Again, Sirius waved the wand. This time a stack of papers on the counter burst into flame. He winced and quickly put the wand back in its wrappings.

"Oh dear. Well good thing those weren't important, eh?" cackled the wandmaker, clearly enjoying himself. The flames extinguished themselves with the snap of his fingers. "Next. Phoenix feather and black walnut. Thirteen inches, sturdy."

This time, a tornado of dust careened through the lobby, picking up papers and wrappings and coating everything in a fine layer of powder. The trend continued for several more wands, and each time Ollivander grew more enthusiastic.

"Tricky, tricky," he recited to himself. After the eighth or ninth wand, he disappeared into the back of the shop once more. Sirius could hear him shuffling through boxes, every once and awhile holding a soft conversation with himself.

Finally he returned with a faded box. The wand was simple, tapered and cylidrical at the end, nearly squarish at the handle, which Ollivander proffered to Sirius. "Dragon heartstring and silver fir. Twelve inches, quite solid."

Sirius' fingers tingled when he took the wand. It was different from the old wand, not quite as comfortable, but it was right, Sirius knew immediately. He gave it a wave and a shower of brilliant red sparks fell from the tip.

"Wonderful!" Ollivander exclaimed. "I should have chosen this one right away, of course. Here, let me wrap it for you."

Reluctantly, Sirius returned the wand. The warmth drained from his fingers.

"Minerva will be pleased," Ollivander commented, placing the wand back in the lining.

"McGonagall?" Sirius asked, confused.

"The wand is most similar to her own. Same core and species of wood, though hers comes from a fraser fir rather than the silver fir. Hers is shorter as well, more precise, but you were never very precise as I recall, Mr. Black."

"Right," said Sirius, fumbling for galleons. James' phantom guffaw echoed in his head. " _Pleased? Minnie McGonagall pleased that she and Sirius Black have something in common? Hahahaha! You have to tell her Pads, hold it over her whenever you can."_

Oblivious to imaginary James' delight, Ollivander collected the payment on the counter now cluttered with brown wrapping paper and wand boxes. Then his delicate hands floated over the casing of Sirius' new wand.

"Your magic may be a little temperamental after an extended stay in Azkaban," cautioned the wandmaker. "But it will heal with time. Remarkable wood, fir. Resilient and hardy. My grandfather called it the survivor's wand for a reason."

"I'm no survivor." The private thought slipped out of Sirius' mouth before he could stop it.

"I think that perhaps you are." Ollivander smiled slightly and handed Sirius the new wand with an odd sort of reverence. "I may not leave this shop often, but wandcraft gives one certain insights into the fabric of the world. Wands are careful in who they choose the first time, especially wands of character. It would take a great deal of magic to fool such a complex magical object."

"Thanks," Sirius said awkwardly. Through the eccentricities of wandlore jargon, Sirius could tell he had just been given some kind of encouragement.

"My pleasure, Mr. Black." There was a weighty pause before the wandmaker continued in a soft voice. "I don't know if anyone has said this to you yet, but I am sorry for your loss. Most of the wizarding world do not notice his absence or care, but he was a kind young man."

Sirius felt that crushing burden of grief again, strong as steel. Yes, the Minister had said it to him in the courtroom. But the Minister had spoken of his freedom, of James and Lily, now in the grave for four and a half years. Not of the werewolf. Not of Remus Lupin.

Sirius clenched the wandbox as a strange heat warmed the veins of his wand arm. A shackle was lifting from his magic. He had a wand now. He looked back at the wandmaker, whose candyfloss hair was catching the rising sun like a cloud.

"He's not gone until I say so," he resolved hoarsely. Ollivander's coin bright eyes glinted. Suddenly Sirius felt like maybe he could be a survivor. And maybe, _maybe_ , he would not be alone. The tiny sliver of hope carried him back into the streets, where the growing number of people paused to stare at the ex-convict.

Arthur's flaming hair was easy to spot. As they walked towards the Leaky Cauldron, Sirius told Arthur about his motorbike.

* * *

 _March 27, 1986_

Sirius wondered if it was Thursday yet. He was sitting in the empty kitchen of his empty cottage, a mug of tea in his hands, the curtains open on the dark fields. Surely midnight had come and gone. And sleep was a distant memory.

He fidgeted. If it was Thursday, was one day before he would see Harry for the first time in over four years. It was also James' birthday, he thought with a stabbing sensation in his chest.

Perhaps he was too tired to sleep. Or too nervous, counting down the days like an obsession. Or maybe it was the brightness of the full moon, penetrating his room like a blade.

The resolution he had felt in Ollivander's wand shop was still there, hard and unyielding. But sometimes, in the midst of nightmares and loneliness, it could be difficult to find.

Dumbledore's reasonable voice from the morning Sirius learned of Remus' disappearance was proving difficult to banish from his mind. Like James'.

" _Alastor had been keeping track of him,"_ Dumbledore had explained. His voice had barely penetrated the roaring denial in Sirius' brain. " _He was the one who filed the report with the Ministry. He spent two months on the investigation."_

" _Don't give up on him too, Padfoot,"_ said James.

" _He could have just wanted to disappear! Did you ever think of that?!"_ Sirius had shouted when he got his voice back.

" _There was irrefutable evidence, Sirius. We believe he was targeted by remaining Death Eaters for what he may know about Voldemort's disappearance-"_

" _So he was captured! Or he faked his death!"_

" _Sirius, Alastor's evidence is quite convincing-"_

" _Well so was the evidence damning me to life in Azkaban."_

Sirius could not accept it. But he was trapped in this cottage, with nothing but his dismal thoughts for company. And James.

" _Find him, Padfoot."_

So here Sirius was, contemplating the way the full moon cast blue shadows on the slender stick of wood on the table top. The new wand was not like his old one. They were tentative strangers still, despite having chosen each other.

And he was weak. He hated admitting it, but a slow walk in the surrounding fields would leave him winded. After the excursion to Diagon Alley to purchase the wand, Sirius had collapsed in his bed and did not wake until the middle of the night. Both Ollivander and Dumbledore had cautioned him against overexerting himself, but Sirius still spent most of his spare time practicing spells. He revelled the feeling of the magic's warmth in his blood, singing through his veins and into the wand.

But was apparating too much?

He had gone nearly five days without information, without action, and it was becoming almost agonizing to think of going longer. Mad-Eye knew something, according to Dumbledore.

Sirius ran a hand through his newly cut hair. It was too matted to be saved, so he'd finally sheared it off. It was much shorter than he was used to, but his hair grew quickly. After several baths, it felt foreign and soft in his fingers. Changes. Too many, too quickly. _Find him, Pads._ Again, Sirius contemplated his wand. Splinching himself would not be pleasant, but at least he would be _doing_ something. He would be getting answers, instead of sitting here like a fool, pondering how moonlight could hurt so much.

Then, abruptly, he snatched it and stood. Before he could hesitate any more, he was out in the burning moonlight, pant hems soaking in the grass. _Destination, determination, deliberation,_ he thought grimly to himself.

With more determination and deliberation than he had ever summoned, he spun into the pinched hole between spaces.

He arrived, gasping, on the edge of a nondescript brownstone. It was an odd choice for the paranoid auror, to live so close to his neighbors, but Sirius figured that he liked to keep his enemies close. And to the auror, enemies were everywhere, even in the neighboring houses. Sirius carefully observed the house first, noting the shimmer of protective spells laid across the outer walls. Then he inhaled and strode daringly onto the walkway. No curse shriveled his eyeballs or disemboweled him, so he quickly jogged to the entryway and rapped on the solid oak door impatiently. It was chilly and he had forgotten his borrowed cloak at home. Stomping his feet and shivering, he waited. When no answer was forthcoming, he slammed his open palm against the door.

"Come on, Mad-Eye, I know you're awake! Just setting foot on your property probably set off fifty alarms!"

The door remained stubbornly shut.

"OI! Wake up you old bastard!"

Sirius kicked the door, hard. "Argh!" Pain exploded in his toes.

"Come on!"

He glared up at the fortified house. Then he made a rude hand gesture and turned to limp down the pathway.

"Only four alarms, Black. I'm not that paranoid yet."

"Whatever," Sirius said. He thought about flashing his old trade-mark grin, but was not sure if those muscles still existed. So he shrugged and faced the older auror. Moody was wearing a long nightgown striped with powder blue, covered partially with a maroon dressing gown. Sirius knew better than to comment.

"You're lucky I didn't blast you to smithereens, storming my house like that at four a.m," growled the wizard.

"I needed to ask you a few things."

"Why can't you keep normal hours like a regular person?"

"Not really regular, am I?" Sirius asked, only a mild hint of bitterness coloring his voice. Moody huffed, then held open the door.

"I'm not going back to sleep."

"Thanks."

The interior of the auror's home was cramped and austere, filled with instruments for detecting dark magic. Sirius glanced at a foe glass as he passed, a chill creeping up his spine at the shadows lurking inside. Even the kitchen was dedicated more to the tracking and capture of dark wizards than to meals. An enormous board took up one wall, covered with wanted ads and maps marked violently with red ink. String connected bent push pins, tagged with magical lettering or numbers. It tangled and looped, a web mapping the dark underground of the magical world.

"Tea?" Moody asked, setting a charred kettle over a pale flame ignited by his wand. His eye whizzed over his board of criminals as if a habit, taking in the connections and evidence once again.

"Please."

Two mugs were slammed onto the thick, oak table. Within minutes, both were filled with steaming black liquid.

"Got no milk or sugar, so I don't care how you take it."

"Black is fine," Sirius muttered honestly. Only a week ago, tea had been the last thing he'd ever thought he'd taste again.

"If this is about reinstating your status in the Auror Department, Black, I'd be glad to have you back, but I think you need to take some time."

"You and everyone else," Sirius grumbled. "No, it's not about that. It's about Remus."

"Hmph." It was a gruff exhalation, as if Sirius had said something particularly irritating. The roving magic eye spun faster in its socket.

"What?" demanded Sirius, equally annoyed and desperate for information.

"Dumbledore told you everything, did he?" A beam of electric blue suddenly fixated on Sirius.

"Just that you knew more."

"Please," Mad-Eye growled. "Old bastard knows just as much as I do, he just prefers to keep his own opinions to himself if it suits him." But the auror seemed more resigned about this than actually upset. He sighed and blew on his tea. "There isn't much information. A lot of pieces that don't fit together. No remains to speak of. Investigation went cold 'bout a month in."

Sirius struggled to keep his face blank, hating how visceral his reaction to the word "remains" was. "What happened?"

"Damn fool was bloody difficult to keep track of before he disappeared," Moody said, barely paying Sirius any attention. He stared into the gloom of his own kitchen, seeing much further than the wall of suspects. "And for some reason I burdened myself with that onerous responsibility. Don't know how you lot managed it. No regard for personal safety." Moody took a quick sip of his tea, ignoring the scalding heat that was keeping Sirius from touching his. He gulped noisily, throat clicking. Then he added quietly, "But no one else was doing it."

"Meaning?"

Again, the penetrating stare of both eyes. The crinkles around the human one may have approximated pity and a deeper regret.

"Look, Black. Lupin lost everything after Halloween. Of course, Dumbledore reached out countlessly, but Lupin shut down any attempts to help. Dumbledore was concerned, and so was I. I made sure to check in on him every once and awhile. I was the last person he wanted to see after Halloween, but I felt I had to."

Sirius did not find this hard to believe. Remus had historically been resistant to any help, especially in the early years of their friendship. But he noticed something else, a rare coloring of Mad-Eye's voice. Was that… guilt?

"What did you do?" he asked, his brain jumping to new conclusions. Mad-Eye had never outright rejected Remus for his condition before the end of the war, but he had always reserved a small level of suspicion. Considering the levels of paranoia the auror nurtured for other members of the order, Sirius had never taken it too seriously. Especially when he himself had begun to suspect that the traitor was close to home.

"Think about what happened, the climate," Mad-Eye muttered, eyeing him cautiously. "You-Know-Who gone, but his main players still on the loose. The Ministry mobilized an enormous sweep of the wizarding community, the Wizengamot and auror system became about efficiency, not justice. What happened to you should not have happened, at least, not without a trial. But the way it looked, the Potters and Pettigrew dead, only one man locked away. People were out for blood. They chewed Lupin up and discarded him as the collateral damage of a 'Greater Good.'" Moody snorted derisively. "I'm not proud of it, but I was a part of that machine."

Horror was filling Sirius now. "Bones said something about veritaserum…"

"Yes, there was an interrogation," Mad-Eye replied bluntly, answering the unasked question. "Aurors dragged him in afternoon of November second. Locked him in a room, asked questions over and over. Thought he was an accomplice of yours. I stood in when they started on the veritaserum."

Sirius felt sick. His tea had cooled enough to drink, but now he did not think he could even stomach the brew.

"Eventually, there was nothing they could do but accept that a werewolf had told them the truth. Didn't see him again until the November full moon. Tracked him down for Dumbledore, but ended up checking on him myself." Moody took another sip of tea, his gnarled face troubled. "Damn well nearly killed himself that night. Didn't leave him alone for too long after that, especially around full moon. There were things that I was investigating, privately, whispers in the shadows, and I wanted his opinion. Besides, after what happened to the Longbottoms… I did not relish the idea of Remus Lupin in the permanent spell-damage ward. Again, he was not happy about me keeping tabs on him, but I didn't come into this world to be liked."

The mundane questions were clamoring for attention in Sirius' head, the kind a friend would want to know. Where did he stay? Did he find a job? Did anyone care besides the gruff, unfriendly auror across the table? But instead he pressed ahead. "So when he disappeared, you noticed."

"We were… in deep in some murky business. Got too close."

"Why would you end the investigation?"

Mad-Eye leaned forward, elbows heavy on the table, sandy hair falling over the roving blue eye. "Two reasons," he said in a steady undertone. "Because I knew who was out for Remus Lupin's blood and because I found the wand that killed him."

Sirius felt the blood draining from his face. His ears rang with the phantom explosion from Peter's wand, the ironclad condemnation of Prior Incantato. His lips numbed, but he managed to croak, "Who?"

"Dark wizard," Mad-Eye grunted. "Never learned his true name or saw his face, he was good at avoiding capture, good at disguises; but I knew his reputation. A loyal servant of You-Know-Who was pulling strings after Halloween night, continuing the Dark Lord's work, seeking to bring him back to full power."

"Voldemort can't come back," Sirius said without really believing it.

Mad-Eye snorted. "The Ministry likes to play pretend, turning a blind eye to Dumbledore's warnings that he would return. While I was not convinced that this nameless servant would be successful in resurrecting You-Know-Who, he was determined. Remus was helping me and we got in his way one too many times. Remus paid the price."

"You believe he really is dead, then."

Shadows flickered across the dim soot-stained kitchen. They filled the cracks in Mad-Eye's face, making him look more like an ancient tree than a man. "Yes, I believe that."

Sirius felt the hope being crushed from his lungs. He'd lied to himself so completely, praying that this was some kind of prank. But Mad-Eye thought it was true. It was like finding that Remus had simply died in his sleep, slipped away with no one the wiser. And no one really cared until Sirius came home. Mad-Eye was silent, allowing Sirius to struggle to breathe past the loss.

"I have to go," Sirius said abruptly. He shot to wooden legs, leaving his murky cold tea in the mug. Mad-Eye followed his movements, but instead of saying anything to stop Sirius, he stumped noisily to the spider-web tracking dark wizards on his wall. In the corner beneath a newspaper clipping of the dark mark, a filing cabinet was vomiting its guts onto the floor, too full to accept even a single sheet of paper.

Mad-Eye's thick fingers skimmed over the yellow folders, until they finally stopped on one, which he wrestled from where it was squashed into the drawer. It was of medium thickness, and paper clipped to the front was a picture Remus' face, blinking and attempting to look comfortable before the camera.

"The investigation file. I always keep copies," Mad-Eye said gruffly. Sirius stared down at the proffered file, recognizing color coded forms and sheets from his days in the auror department.

"What am I supposed to do with it?" he muttered. He took it from Mad-Eye, the weight of it heavy in his hands.

"Lupin and I were stirring the pot before he disappeared. Still don't know what happened to him. Look through it. Get some closure."

Sirius doubted having the file would bring him closure. He wondered if it would actually drive him mad instead. More effective than dementors was the false hope that taunted him from the file bearing his friends face. But his knuckles turned white from his grip on that false hope. Maybe it would drive him insane, but he did not have the strength to force Mad-Eye to take it back.

"Thank you," he whispered hoarsely.

As he trudged out the door into the cold night, Mad-Eye said, "You were one of the best, Sirius. A little reckless, but good instincts. Perhaps the file could use a fresh set of eyes. It's all a tangled web. But don't be fooled by glittering things, because they aren't always gold."

The door slammed shut before Sirius could ask what he meant. Mad-Eye was not prone to speaking in riddles. It was clear what he meant, that not everything is what it seems. But was he talking about dead friends or false hope?

* * *

 **A/N: Poor Moony :( I promise to have Harry in the next chapter! School has started again, but this is my much needed creative outlet, so hopefully I won't be too bad about updates. Hint hint: reviews keep me on track ;)**


	5. Without, With

**So I should be grading lab reports...but this is more fun! Thank you again for the reviews/follows/favorites. You are the reason that I was able to get this monster of a chapter written amidst teaching, attending my own classes, travel, and research. This next installment is huge and jam-packed, so hopefully it will hold you over until next time ;)**

 **-Cat**

* * *

Chapter 5

Without/With

 _November 18, 1981_

He lasted three more days in the hospital. Three more days confined to the room without windows. Three days trying not to think, thinking too much, pulling his guard tighter. Then, unable to stand the silent healers, the startled aversion of his eyes, the cold hands and cold attitude, Remus signed the papers declaring that he was leaving against medical advice.

Now he limped down the hallway, a crutch under white knuckles. The people were loosely packed, but to Remus it was an unbearably claustrophobic crowd between two collapsing walls. All he wanted was to be completely alone, away from everyone and everything.

But he could not leave yet. There was one more thing he had to do. One last thing.

The fourth floor was a long way to climb from the first floor. Remus knew that there were lifts somewhere, but the idea of being stuck in a small space with other people was repellent. So he took the stairs, grit his teeth against the pain that throbbed through his body. By the time he reached the top of the stairs, there was a dark blur ringing the edges of his vision. He swallowed convulsively and stood very still, leaning almost all of his weight onto his crutch.

"Sir? Sir, do you need any assistance?"

A healer appeared in his line of sight, her kind face pinched with concern. She did not know who he was, did not know what ward he came from.

"No, thank you," Remus rasped. But she put a steadying hand on his arm anyway.

"I need to get to the permanent spell-damage ward," he managed around the dam building in his throat.

"Sir, I insist that you sit down and let me take a look-"

" _No_ ," he snapped. She looked at him with wide, startled eyes. He took a calming breath through his nose. "Sorry. No, I-I just need to get to the spell-damage ward."

"Are you a patient?" she asked gently.

"No. Visitor."

She bit her lip, deliberating. But eventually she sighed and gave in. "Right through this door. Let me help, you're in no shape to be walking around. What on earth happened to you?"

He staggered forward, refusing to lean on the healer, lips sealed. A hard, bitter part of him, urged him to answer. _Werewolf,_ he'd say. Then she would recoil away from him, like he was a leper. _I did this to myself,_ he would continue, viciously. Maybe he would even enjoy her fear of him. _I used to be human, but all that's left of me is a monster._

All that remains.

" _You're much more than this, Moony,"_ his voice invaded again. _Sirius._ He'd torn it all apart, laughing all the while. Remus shook his head to rid himself of his voice, his barking laughter. But questions scorched his throat for the man he once called friend. _What happened to you? Why would you do this?_

He made it to the two beds, side by side. They were strangely alone, the whirlwind of aurors, mediwitches, and Ministry liasons come and gone. The healer hummed sympathetically as she looked at the occupants.

"Were you a friend?"

Remus nodded mutely, hating her use of the past tense. She conjured a chair for him, and he sunk down, staring.

"I'm so sorry for your loss. I'll give you a moment with them."

Then she left him there. He pondered her condolence. Were they lost? He took them in, lying beneath thin sheets. Their cheeks had sunken, their eyes were glassy. Had they changed so much in those few days in hell? Alice's rosy complexion was a thing of the past. Frank's stubble was patched and colorless. His lips moved soundlessly.

They took no notice of him. The ceiling seemed to be more fascinating. He reflected in a detached way that he had also stared at the ceiling and ignored other people since he woke. Perhaps a part of his mind had been lost as well. But this was worse. Far worse. How dare he compare their fates?

He did not know how long he stayed in the spell-damage ward. He had no words, so he just sat utterly helpless. When he noticed the solid, powerful presence behind him, however, he finally spoke.

"Is it too late?"

"The Death Eaters were... ruthless. Alice and Frank were long gone by the time Alastor's team arrived." Dumbledore moved past him to place his hand over Alice's white one. Her eyes did not leave the ceiling. "The entire magical community is in an uproar. The Longbottom's were well-loved."

Remus did not imagine the hitch in Dumbledore's voice. He could feel it deep inside, a breaking point, encased in weakening iron. "And those responsible?" he asked flatly.

"In the wind. We can only guess. At this moment anyone even mildly associated with the Death Eaters is being tracked down by aurors and magical law enforcement. The interrogation chambers are full." Dumbledore said this with a mixture of emotion: bitterness, mourning, terrible anger. Remus suppressed a flinch, hating himself for reacting so viscerally to the mention of that stark, cold room.

"Why-" his throat caught. He swallowed. "Why Alice and Frank?"

"What the Longbottom's have suffered is just a taste of what Voldemort's loyal followers are willing to do to find their leader," Dumbledore replied, maddeningly calm. The piercing blue eyes cut Remus to the core. "Our fight is not yet over. We are dogged by shadows."

Remus opened his mouth, but found that he could not say anything. He could not admit that he wanted to run away from those clinging shadows, to curl into a ball deep in the wilderness and forget. Hadn't this war taken enough from him?

He was saved from Dumbledore's knowing gaze by an approaching mediwitch. She smiled apologetically and said, "I'm sorry sirs, but visiting hours are nearly over."

"We'll be leaving soon," Dumbledore promised. His eyes did not leave Remus, and he waited until the witch was gone to speak again. His dark premonition still hung in the air between them. _We are dogged by shadows._

"You checked out early. Where were you planning on going, Remus?"

Remus' defenses went up tightly, desperate to protect his waning pride. If only he knew the answer to that question. Instead, he said, "I'm not a charity case."

"And friendly concern is not a burden on me, Remus," Dumbledore said sternly.

"Sorry," Remus muttered. He shoved himself out his chair. He'd been here far too long. And Dumbledore was far too perceptive. He limped painfully to where his crutch lay on the floor, and bent with some difficulty to pick it up. "I'm just… tired."

He turned to go, hoping that would be enough. Dumbledore's voice stopped him. "This is a terrible loss. Even more so after all you've suffered."

Remus did not turn back, but he did pause, wanting to explain, to give excuses for his growing despair. To say anything to the man who had given him a chance at happiness so many years ago. To apologize for giving up on that gift that he never deserved. To tell him that he thought he was not going to wake up after the full moon, that maybe that would be okay. But he could not get any of these words out. The only thing he could manage was a single strangled question.

"What am I supposed to do next?" he whispered.

Dumbledore was silent then. Remus waited, facing the end of the ward, facing a void. But not even a rustle of midnight blue robes sounded from the space at his back.

"I cannot answer that for you, my boy." The words came slow and steady, layered with regret. "You will need courage."

His eyes burned.

"I don't think I have much of that anymore."

"You will find it again, Remus."

" _You're much more than this."_ And Sirius was back. _Were you a traitor even then?_ The questions, burning, choking him. James and Lily and Peter, deep in the earth, weighing him down. And Harry… _Harry_ …

Lump in his throat, he acknowledged the Headmaster with an incline of his head, then limped down the ward, praying for… something. For now, a place to sleep would do.

* * *

 _March 28, 1986_

" _Lily and James, Sirius, how could you?!"_

 _James' face stared at him, bloodless, transparent. His glasses crooked, his hazel eyes fixed on him like weights. His jaw clicked, worked, ground until he spoke, the sound filling his head: "How could you, Sirius?"_

" _Please, please, I didn't know-" Sirius begged, but he could feel James' hands, dead and scabbed and clammy, forcing his face upwards-_

 _And then it wasn't James at all, but the gaping mouth of a dementor. Assailed with fetid breath, the smell of rotting flesh, insatiable appetite…_

" _No-please-" Sirius' fingernails scrabbled at the dementor's bony wrists. Movement flickered in his peripheral vision._

 _Sirius rolled his eyes and saw a figure, distant and unmoved. But there was no mistaking the graying fawn colored hair._

" _Remus! Help me, please, I'm innocent!"_

 _Amber eyes met his. Chips of terrible honeyed-stone._

" _Liar," he whispered._

" _No, no I never lied-"_

" _You said you would never leave."_

 _Torment._

" _I-"_

 _But he couldn't speak. The decaying mouth locked over his and he was suffocating-_

"NO!"

Then he was falling, falling, and with a jolt he landed on the floor in a tangle of twisted sheets. Gasping, he struggled against them, ripping frantically at them-

"No, please, let me go, let me go-"

He scrambled backwards, hitting something hard… the bedside table. It rattled, sending the alarm clock tumbling to the ground. There was a clatter of a wand rolling away on the floorboards. His breath came in huge, heaving sobs. There wasn't enough air in the room… Eternity passed…

The cold floor seeped into his bones. He stretched a shaking hand to the fallen alarm clock. The face had cracked, but the illuminated hands were still visible.

3:14 a.m.

Sirius groaned, scrubbing the heels of his hands into his eyelids until colors burst into the darkness.

"Pull yourself together, Pads," he whispered to himself. "You're seeing Harry today. Think of Harry." But his voice wavered. His nightmares were no better than they were in Azkaban. Why could he not stop _shaking?_

With a desperate snarl, he forced himself to crawl to his wand. His magic burst in contact with its conduit and in seconds his mind transformed, simplified, became Padfoot.

A balm of relief soothed his canine thoughts. Senses sharpened, the smell of moist earth and nascent life and fresh rain. His pink tongue lolled out, capturing sweet oxygen, sending a thrill into his racing blood.

Run.

Running was good.

He trotted down the hall, pulled the door open with his paws, and slipped out under the stars.

Smells, so many smells. Wet grass under his paws, clouds gone, sky soaring high and infinite, earth wide. With a bark, he jogged to the line of trees at the edge of the fields. Young warding magic carded through his fur with tingling fingers, then he was out among the hills. No walls, no stone, no dead hands or dead friends.

He raced his shadow, spun, chasing the moon's large, waning face.

He ran and ran until only heartbeat, only wild abandon, unbounded; great loping legs eating earth and time and space in wild flight.

He let himself be lost, if only for a little while.

Then Padfoot returned.

Escape only delays being found.

He snuffled his way back to the cottage, back to the tingling, curious wards.

But there was... a scent. In his scramble to release, he had not noticed it before.

Padfoot's ears pricked. It was barely there, and yet it was. Subtle parchment, clean cotton, ink, and under those layers... old ash and blood plus something… familiar. How long had it been there? Only hours, dulled by the rain? Days? A growl rumbled in his throat and his ruff rose on his neck. He circled the perimeter, sniffing, but it was confined to the little grove of stately elm trees outside the property. The line of wards had not been crossed.

Padfoot sneezed and shook his head. _Friend or enemy?_

The rush of his race through the countryside drained away. He trotted back to the house with a new puzzle.

Once inside, he became a man once more and showered quickly, mind racing. Then he pulled the manila file bearing Remus' face from where he had stashed it under his mattress and hurried to his dark kitchen. He slapped the file on the table, turned on the gas lamps, and settled the kettle on the stove. Instead of tea, Sirius reached for the coffee tin. He would need the kick after another sleepless night. And he preferred to work in a manic, caffeine-induced state.

Coffee made, he snatched a few slips of parchment and a pencil before sitting down in a chair. He drew the curtains against the melancholy gibbous moon, then scribbled a list: _parchment, cotton, ink, ash (old), blood (old), ?-_

He gulped down hot, black coffee and frowned at the question mark. He rolled the memory of the scent around for a few moments, closing his eyes to shut out distractions. Where had he smelled that before? His brain supplied a feeling of sunlight, but that did not help much. _Before Azkaban, then…_ But nothing else arose.

 _We are dogged by shadows._

Frustrated, Sirius pushed the list aside and looked down at the picture of Remus, blinking and smiling shyly.

" _You said you would never leave."_

Since Mad-Eye had given him the file, Sirius had kept it close, but never opened it. His own words burned in his memory, " _You know we'll never leave, right?"_

Then they had.

And in this file, Sirius would be faced with the aftermath. Or a paper trail of it. He grimaced, then flipped it open before he could think any further.

The file would be organized as chronologically as possible, establishing a timeline until Remus' disappearance. The front pages were just the basic biographical information, a copy of his registration as a werewolf with identifying marks, the official missing persons report filed far too long after the witness reports of when he was seen last. Sirius rifled through the numerous pages afterwards. Mad-Eye had been thorough, Sirius had to admit with some foreboding.

Unwillingly, he flipped to the first report after the transcript of the interrogation on November 2, 1981. He would need to read that one eventually… later.

But the next section was no better. A thick folder had been slid into the file. Sirius removed this and opened it.

His intestines twisted. The disturbingly blank face of Alice Longbottom lay flat and lifeless in his hands. Breathing steadily through his nose, he carefully moved it to the side and looked down at a similar photo of Frank. A pair of shells, reduced to two dimensions, so removed from laughter, softness, _endurance_. Sirius had heard of course, after the investigation was concluded. He did manage to get some information in Azkaban, thought not much. Judging by the weight of the folder, Mad-Eye had included a careful account of the investigation.

Sirius shuffled papers detailing the uproar in the Ministry, the literal witch hunt that followed. Practices designed to keep investigations just and fair were thrown out the window. Anyone suspected was guilty until proven innocent. Newspaper clippings fluttered out, the press shouting outrage as the investigation lengthened to over a month. Little scarlet tabs had been placed on a few random pages, delineating a trail through the mass of information. Dead ends, red herrings, everything was included.

But why include this folder at all?

Sirius pondered, wondering if he should read everything. Mad-Eye had been his mentor when he first joined the auror program and his motto of constant vigilance applied to everything, even the bloody paperwork. He fingered the scarlet tabs, and flipped to the first one. A raid report, with a list of Death Eaters present: _Evan Rosier, Fenrir Greyback, Unknown Masked Death Eater - Suspected to be Rabastan /Rodolphus Lestrange, Possible Unknown Fourth Death Eater._

The last item was highlighted in yellow, a note scrawled in the margin: _*leader?_

Sirius thought back to his conversation with Mad-Eye about the mysterious Death Eater he and Remus had been tracking. " _A loyal servant of You-Know-Who was pulling strings after Halloween night, continuing the Dark Lord's work, seeking to bring him back to full power."_ He shuddered, buried memories of Azkaban resurfacing.

The day the Lestranges had been convicted for the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom, Sirius had heard his deranged cousin through the echoing tunnels.

" _The Dark Lord will rise again!"_ Bellatrix had shrieked. She cackled madly between each triumphant proclamation. " _He will come for us! The Dark Lord is coming!"_

The screeching had died away as she was dragged to a different part of the hive-like prison. But her piercing words lingered, enticing bites of fear for the dementors to feed upon.

He realized he was wrinkling the paper with his grip and smoothed it out. Then, scrubbing his eyes and gulping more coffee, he engrossed himself in the Longbottoms' file. Hours slipped by unnoticed until a light tapping on the door roused him.

His heart stuttered.

Dumbledore was here.

He shoved the files back together and hurriedly hid it in the cutlery drawer. Anxiously, he surveyed the meticulously clean kitchen, then skittered to the living room and did the same. Then the little bedroom in the hall.

" _Stop worrying, Padfoot,"_ James said gently. " _He'll love it here. He'll love you."_

"Can't help it, Prongs," he whispered back.

Then he went and answered the front door. Today, Harry was coming home.

* * *

Little Whinging, Surrey was peacefully waking to a chilly morning of crisp sunlight. The brown grass was frosted, and buried below, tiny green fronds were pushing themselves upwards. If it weren't for the nervous energy cavorting up and down Sirius' limbs, he would have been prancing through it as Padfoot, barking excitedly.

The old Sirius would, at least.

The old Sirius would be confident, would be loping with easy purpose, his back straight. The old Sirius would not feel this creeping uncertainty. The old Sirius became Padfoot for the joy of it, not the escape. But that version of himself was long gone, perhaps forever.

The new Sirius felt all wrong. He wanted to crawl out of his skin, whoop for joy, cower in terror. Is this how it was supposed to feel?

Dumbledore was quiet beside him, taking long, majestic strides down the road. Sirius had the feeling that Dumbledore would simply say that he had no way of knowing. It felt like soaring, but with the certainty that his wings would suddenly vanish. What if Harry did not want him? What if his relatives would not give him up? What if he had gotten it all wrong and they loved him and he loved them back?

They were on Privet Drive, and his knees felt like pudding. _Oh Merlin, Merlin, Merlin-_

" _Pull yourself together, Padfoot. This is my son. You were there when he was born."_

Right. But Sirius' emotions weren't cooperating. Memories stirred of a black-haired baby, of Lily's laughter, of James. Of staggering love. Of terror. Of the house in Godric's Hollow with a hole blown through the roof. Everything jumbled together in his head, clamoring for attention. And before he knew it, they were standing in front of Number Four.

It was depressingly identical to its neighbors. The lawn was almost immaculate, though slightly brown from the fading winter. The begonias in the garden had been trimmed to severe stumps. There was not a brick in the walkway out of place. Unlike Godric's Hollow, where there was a warmth in the mess, an explosion of plants in the garden, gold light in the windows. James lying dead on the stairs.

Too soon, or perhaps not quickly enough, they were on the perfect walkway. Sirius wondered if it were possible for all the atoms in his body to spontaneously zoom off in different directions.

Dumbledore knocked lightly.

"One moment, please!" shouted a falsely cheery voice over a loud, insistent wailing. The click of heels on hardwood, a muffled terse exchange, and the firm click of a door shutting somewhere inside. Then the peephole slid open. There was a long pause, punctuated by shouts of "No! No! _NO!_ "

The door cracked open and the wailing increased piercingly in volume. A woman's face appeared in the five centimeter slit, horse-like and thin.

"What are you doing here?" hissed the woman. She clearly recognized Dumbledore. She peered over her sharp nose at Sirius as if he were a ragged, flea-ridden, skeletal mutt. If he were being honest with himself, Sirius would likely agree. "And who is that?" Her tone of voice made it quite clear that she meant " _What_ is that?"

"I will not! I WILL NOT!"

"Hello Petunia," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "I apologize if we've dropped in at an inconvenient time. You may not remember Sirius Black. He was a friend of James and Lily's at school. We've come to see Harry,"

"Without even sending notice?" she demanded, as if the idea was utterly barbaric.

"Again, I do apologize," Dumbledore said in a grave voice. But he made no move to leave. He adjusted his hat, an ostentatious amethyst covered in golden stars and crescent moons. "Do you suppose this conversation would be better indoors, away from prying eyes?"

The blood drained from Petunia's face as she took in the professor's outlandish garb and Sirius' emaciated, deranged appearance. She jerked the door open and gestured wildly for them to enter, eyes darting to the windows of the identical neighboring houses.

The foyer was bland, painted beige and sparsely decorated. Sirius scanned it quickly, heart rate quickening as he searched for signs of Harry. But was difficult to concentrate over the noise. The door snapped shut and Petunia turned the deadbolt. Sirius could now see her fully, a thin woman wearing a severe gray dress and an apron. And at her elbow was the angriest, pinkest, _roundest_ boy Sirius had ever seen. His face was contorted in an ugly pout and he was screaming, "I WON'T, I WON'T, I WON'T!"

"Hush now, Diddy," Petunia cajoled, bending over the boy. She petted his straw-colored hair fondly. "You don't have to then, I'll ask Ha-" She stopped abruptly. "I'll pick up your toys myself, how does that sound?"

Abruptly, the shouts ceased. The boy- _Diddy?_ -sniffled.

"O-okay," he hiccupped. "Can I h-have ice c-cream now?"

"Of course, mummy will make you some ice cream," she simpered. The falsetto voice dropped as she faced Dumbledore again, who was patiently standing just beside Sirius. "You can come into the kitchen, then," she directed shortly. She eyed Sirius as if she would need to sanitize her house once he left, but did not protest as he followed her, the pink boy, and Dumbledore into the kitchen.

The room was pristine, nearly sterile. Counters gleamed in the sunlight, shockingly white to Sirius' prison-dimmed eyes. Petunia opened the- _afridgerate?_ -and took out a carton of double fudge ice cream. She proceeded to fill a bowl with heaping scoops without offering any to the guests. Her movements were mechanical, and as she did so, she recited succinctly, "Harry is fine. He eats, he sleeps, and he is in good health. Both Harry and Dudley are at primary school age now, so that's what Harry does during the week. He's slow, but nothing unordinary."

It was clear that anything unordinary would not be welcome. Sirius was starting to get a bad feeling in his gut. Harry was nowhere to be seen and Petunia reported about him as if he were a weather update. Cold and impersonal.

She added a spoon to the mountain of double fudge ice cream and placed the large bowl in front of Dudley, who was waiting at the table. He dug into it immediately with gusto. Petunia faced Sirius and Dumbledore, her bony arms crossed and her jaw jutted out.

"Where is he?" Sirius finally demanded, feeling as if he would explode. The woman's lips pursed, but something flashed across her face. Was that fear?

"Why have you come to see him?" she snipped back, covering the slip.

"To be honest, Petunia, we've come to discuss his guardianship," Dumbledore answered. He laid a hand on Sirius shoulder. Sirius felt the heat of it like a spark, still unused to any contact, but he forced himself to stay still. "As I said, Sirius was a close friend of Lily and James. He was named Harry's godfather when he was born." The hand was removed.

Petunia scrutinized him closer, her eyes narrowed. Then she muttered, "You were the best man at the wedding. Lily sent a photograph."

"Yes," Sirius said curtly. Petunia had refused to come to the wedding. Sirius was the one who had inadequately attempted to comfort Lily, since James was on assignment the night Petunia's R.S.V.P. arrived. He could still remember James' stricken expression when he came home to his fiance's blotchy face.

" _Padfoot, what did you do?!"_

"What happened to you?" Petunia's voice cut rudely across James'. "You looked healthy in the picture."

"Sirius was wrongly convicted of a crime and served four years of a life sentence before recent evidence exonerated him," Dumbledore explained. "I assure you he is innocent."

"Hmmph," Petunia huffed, looking affronted to have an ex-inmate in her clean kitchen, innocent or not. Sirius tilted his chin upwards slightly.

They were interrupted then by the sound of a very _large_ someone descending the stairs.

"Petunia, I'm heading to work now. I've got an important meeting with the director of-"

Vernon Dursley appeared in the doorway, filling the frame. He was dressed smartly, in a jacket and tie. A briefcase was clutched in a beefy hand, comically small compared to the man wielding it. When he caught sight of Sirius and Dumbledore in his kitchen, his mustache bristled and his face turned an ugly shade of purple.

"Vernon, we have guests," Petunia said stiffly.

Vernon was frozen for several more seconds, processing Dumbledore's ostentatious wizarding robes and Sirius' derelict, vagabondish appearance. Then the muscles of his jaw worked and he managed, "What the ruddy hell are you thinking, coming to my house at this time?"

"Vernon," Dumbledore greeted politely, ignoring the question. "You may remember me, my name is Albus Dumbledore. My companion here is Sirius Black."

"You're one of… one of _them_ eh?" His pig-like eyes surveyed Sirius. "Unnatural?"

"Wizard," Sirius snapped, sizing the man up, disliking him instantly. _Unnatural._ Sirius' stomach squirmed, uncannily reminded of his muggle-hating relatives, perspectives flip-flopped. And the thought of Harry living in the same house…

"This a social call?" Vernon grunted to Dumbledore through his teeth. As if to intimidate them, he stepped all the way into the kitchen, puffing his chest.

"No, it is not," Dumbledore replied, supremely unruffled. "As I told Petunia, we've come to discuss the question of Harry's guardianship. Sirius is Harry's godfather, he would naturally fall into succession as Harry's guardian after blood relatives. I understand that this is an unusual and difficult circumstance. You have raised Harry thus far, and therefore have the first say in this matter. You may even take a few days to discuss if you so choose. But Sirius is willing to take on the responsibility of raising Harry should you find yourselves willing to part with the child."

Petunia did not say a word. Vernon stared. The only sound was the rapid clinking and slurping coming from the table where Dudley was shoving the last of the ice cream into his sticky mouth. Sirius could not breathe, suffocated by the greedy sounds, by Petunia's thin lips, her guarded eyes.

"You mean… he'd be gone. Just like that?" Vernon asked. His brow was furrowed in rapid thought.

"Like I said, you'd have time to talk about it-"

"Not necessary. Boy's trouble," Vernon interrupted, short and clipped. "Take him."

Sirius stared at the man. Petunia twitched behind the counter. So many conflicting emotions scrambled around in Sirius' belly that he could barely concentrate.

"There's no need to rush things," Dumbledore counselled cautiously. Sirius wanted to shout at him. Was the air getting thinner?

"Professor-" he started hoarsely, but Vernon cut across him.

"Was I not clear?" Vernon's little eyes seemed to bug out with affront that Dumbledore had the gall to stretch things out. But Dumbledore's penetrating blue eyes were fixed on Lily's sister. Petunia was pale, glancing at her husband, but her spine straightened.

"What about-" she swallowed with difficulty. "What about the… the protection thing?"

"Does that even _matter_?" Vernon snarled. His face had turned crimson at the mention of something magical. _Merlin, Harry could not stay here._

"You mean the blood protection?" Dumbledore clarified, again ignoring Harry's uncle.

Petunia flinched and the word "blood." But she nodded tightly.

"We have many other means of protecting Harry beyond the protection of Lily's blood relatives, if that's what you mean," Dumbledore stated gravely. "Everything has been arranged at Sirius' house." He was watching Petunia with mild consideration. Sirius could barely hear over the pounding of his own heart. Would she say no? Did she actually care enough somewhere deep inside?

Vernon was practically vibrating with frustration, watching the exchange, jaw grinding. But something about Dumbledore's presence seemed to be keeping his words at bay. Petunia's eyes fluctuated between her husband and Dumbledore. Then, the severe woman was staring at him, her expression dubious. He knew how he looked, skeletal, crazed, barely able to care for himself. Could he expect the woman to surrender a child to him, no matter how horrid she seemed?

But instead of a refusal, she asked quietly, "Would… would we ever see him again?"

Sirius felt the stirrings of hope in his chest, muffled by his leaping heart.

"If you would like something to be arranged-" Dumbledore started.

"No," she said sharply. It echoed like the crack of a whip in the pristine kitchen. She inhaled tremulously and straightened her apron. Vernon seemed to deflate slightly. "No, no that won't be necessary. We've done our share. Go ahead and take the boy."

Despite the harshness of her words, Sirius felt as if the cage around his lungs had disappeared, giving them infinite space to inflate. _She said yes, she said yes, she said-_

A tiny gasp sounded from the kitchen entrance.

Sirius turned his head so quickly, his neck crackled noisily.

A miniature version of James was peering shyly around the doorframe, brilliant emerald eyes wide as he took in the two wizards. Before he had been biting his tongue. Now, Sirius could not find the breath to speak. The baby rolls were melted away, revealing cheekbones and a very Potter-like chin. Scrawny arms and legs and knobbly knees emerged from a baggy t-shirt and tightly cinched gym shorts. His air flopped in messy jet black locks across his pale forehead. And underneath, Sirius could just see the outline of a white lightning-bolt scar.

"I thought I told you to stay put," Petunia said stiffly, as if she were trying and failing to sound polite.

Harry answered quietly, "I wanted to see who was here-"

"Listen to your aunt, boy," Vernon barked. Harry's wide-eyed gaze snapped to his uncle and he seemed to shrink in on himself.

"Hey, watch it," Sirius bit out, voice suddenly restored, cold and dangerous. Vernon glared at him and Sirius drew himself up taller.

"Do not tell me to watch it in my own kitchen," Vernon hissed.

Harry was backing away now, his voice uncertain as he whispered, "I'm sorry, I can go…"

"Now that won't be necessary," Dumbledore interrupted kindly. Harry turned his green eyes to the tall wizard. They gleamed with wonder at the vividly purple hat. "Hello Harry. My name is Albus Dumbledore. I knew your parents."

"You did?" Harry gasped in awe. In Sirius' peripheral vision, Petunia jerked. "Wow. Were you good friends?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "Yes, we were. But Sirius, here, was their best friend."

And before Sirius was prepared, Harry was looking directly at him. His face was curious, open, without any recognition of his godfather. Sirius' mind was blank. What was he supposed to say? But Harry solved this problem by speaking first.

"Why is your name Serious?" he asked, his brow furrowing. "Did you forget how to be funny?"

Sirius was so startled, a sound erupted from him. It bubbled into a bark and tugged on his cheeks. After a moment, he realized that he had laughed. "I-no, my parents forgot how to be funny and called me that. I'm actually hilarious."

"Oh. But _my_ parents were funny, right?"

"Absolutely. Well, your dad more than your mum," Sirius added as an afterthought. And for once, it was not overwhelmingly painful to speak of them.

"Do you think-"

Then, quite, suddenly, Harry shut his mouth as if he had remembered something extremely important. There was a strained pause.

"Do I think what?" Sirius prompted. But Harry said nothing. His gaze flicked to his uncle. A vein was throbbing ominously in his purple temple.

"I think that's enough questions," he ground out, as if it were taking a great deal of effort to maintain a level voice.

"He can ask whatever he-" Sirius started hotly.

"Not. In. My. House."

Sirius felt his anger towards the bull-like man steaming towards a critical mass. His fingers tingled with the temptation to snatch his wand from where it was concealed in his pocket. As if by some sixth sense, Dumbledore warned in a low voice, "Sirius, let's not do anything rash. We will keep this meeting civil."

Dumbledore's keen gaze swept from Sirius to Vernon with cutting intensity. The ensuing tension was thick enough to sculpt.

"Explain to the boy why you're here," Petunia ordered suddenly. She crossed to Dudley, feigning nonchalant business. Her son had abandoned scraping the melted chocolate cream from the bowl and was now spreading it on the table.

But before either Sirius or Dumbledore could say anything, Dudley chose that moment to ask loudly, "Are they taking the freak away?"

Petunia's face went the color of porridge and twin spots of crimson appeared on her sharp cheekbones. "Now Dudders, we don't call people that."

"But we call _him_ that," Dudley protested.

The temperature of the room dropped several degrees.

"You call _who_ that?" Sirius hissed, directing his question to Petunia and Vernon. His voice echoed, bouncing off the counters and cabinets like they were icebergs. Everything seemed to fade except for the disproportioned couple in front of him. Vernon seemed unable to come up with a quick answer.

"N-no one," his wife supplied, but the color had gone from her face.

"Don't lie to me," Sirius instructed dangerously. Dudley gave a small squeak and shrank down into his chair as if he hoped to reduce his massive size. But Petunia did not budge. Her face went through an alarmingly rapid series of transitions, settling in a strange muddlement of self-righteousness and bitterness.

"The boy," she said through clenched teeth. "That boy that my useless sister dumped on us. The spawn of her freakish husband. She was always the perfect one, always the favorite. Well, she's dead now and we're left with her unnatural offspring. Vernon was right, we should have left him on the doorstep. All he's been is trouble, unlocking doors without keys, hair growing all over the place, books where they don't belong. I'll be glad to be rid of him."

She ended her speech quite abruptly. Then whatever semblance of bravado that had fueled it sputtered and died, leaving her the color of old butter. Sirius' ears were roaring.

"How-" he sputtered. "How dare you-Right in front of-You-" He swallowed convulsively, the only thing burning through his rage being the presence of his young godson.

"I think we've heard quite, enough."

Like an ominous thunderhead, Dumbledore's even timbre settled over the pressurized atmosphere of the kitchen. Sirius had completely forgotten the Headmaster. But now, a firm hand grasped his forearm. Sirius stiffened with rage at the touch, his skin crawling. He tried to jerk away, but the grip tightened.

"You left him here," Sirius accused under his breath, heart loud in his skull.

"I did." Regret. "Sirius, this is not the time."

His arm was bruising under the Headmaster's surprisingly strong fingers. Sirius then realized how close his hand was to the fir wand in his pocket, how he was straining against the older man. He forced himself to relax. Dumbledore's grip loosened.

"Later," Sirius croaked fiercely.

Dumbledore nodded in solemn agreement, then turned to the Dursleys. "Please point us towards Harry's room so we may gather his things," he instructed. "I believe that, at this juncture, further conversation would be most… unwise."

Petunia spasmed like a dying insect. Then she seemed to solidify into a living version of rigor mortis. Vernon was no better. The silence that followed was punctuated by his cornered wheezing until-

"I can show you. Where am I going?"

Harry looked up at Sirius with those wide, slightly guarded green eyes. Sirius, still trembling with rage, forced himself to breathe. _In, out, and again, in and out. Get a grip, Sirius._ He painstakingly removed his trembling hand from his pocket and pulled his arm from Dumbledore's grip. Then he lowered himself down to Harry's level, both knees popping loudly like firecrackers. Oh Merlin, he was so much like James. Anxiety bubbled beneath a huge emotion that he could not name, but it had been growing stronger ever since he laid eyes on his godson.

"Well Harry," he said, his voice hoarse. "I was wondering if you would like to come and live with me?"

Harry's eyes became, if possible, even larger. His little mouth dropped open.

"Only if you want to, of course," Sirius added quickly, aware of his vampire-like appearance, his surges of temper, his utter ineptitude when it came to kids (which surely Harry could sense, with instincts like his mother's). But his heart pounded. _Please, please want to._

Harry seemed incapable of speech. But he managed to shut his mouth and shoot a quick glance at his frozen relatives. Then he rigorously shook his head up and down.

For a moment, it was as if Azkaban had never happened.

"Thank Merlin," Sirius whispered, his face splitting into a true Black smile. He wanted to sweep up the little boy in front of him, to hold him tight and never let go, but he restrained himself. His eyes burned. "How about we get your things?"

He could _not_ cry right now.

"Okay." Harry smiled shyly then turned and exited the kitchen. Sirius followed, noting that Petunia was poised like a cornered animal in his peripheral vision. It was somewhat satisfying to leave her and Vernon under Dumbledore's forbidding gaze.

At least, until Harry paused at a small door in the hallway by the stairs.

With a small hand, he turned the handle to the cupboard and the door swung outwards. It took Sirius about three seconds to process what he was seeing. There was a narrow bed, neatly made, where Harry clambered to bring him closer to the string that turned on a solitary light bulb. On the shelves were a few more oversized items of clothing, adorned with a common house spider. And next to these were a few broken action figures, cast-off knights without swords and a three-legged horse. Only one of the toys was unbroken, a scarred figure in armor riding a white steed.

"This one's my favorite," Harry explained, oblivious to the explosion building in his new guardian. "I haven't given him a name, yet."

Little tremors of fury were running along the lining of Sirius' abdomen, up and down his nerve endings. The sound of his grinding teeth was loud in his skull. _Focus._

"Harry, do you have a bag to put your clothes and toys in?" Sirius asked, a dangerous calm stealing over him.

"I can use my backpack." He pulled a second-hand yellow backpack from under the bed.

"Okay. How about you pack what you want to bring while I go have a last word with your aunt and uncle?"

"Okay."

Sirius stood. He was fire. He was ice. And he was fucking _furious_.

His legs carried him on autopilot to the kitchen again, where no one had spoken a word since he'd left. But his face must have shown what he was feeling inside, because Petunia let out a little frightened squeak when he re-entered. Vernon took a little convulsing side-step closer to her.

"Professor, go and escort Harry outside," Sirius said, sounding quite unlike himself. "The Dursleys and I need to have… words."

Dumbledore stared at him for a moment, blue gaze assessing. Likely checking just how murderous Sirius was feeling at the moment. But Sirius' patience had snapped, and the Dursleys were not the only recipient of his rage at the moment. _Fuck with me, I dare you,_ Sirius thought fiercely, willing the Headmaster to read his mind.

Apparently he did, because his expression did an interesting thing, equally hardened and apologetic. But he did not move. Sirius sighed. _Not interested in going back to Azkaban for murdering muggles, old man. Just… let me have this._

Satisfied, the corner of his mouth twitching, Dumbledore said, "Good morning, Petunia, Vernon. I doubt you'll be hearing from me again." Then he swept majestically from the room. Sirius stood quite still and listened to the Headmaster's soft murmurings to Harry. Finally, their receding footsteps were followed by the soft click of the front door closing.

The beast of Azkaban was still entangled in his soul like a black weed. For once, Sirius let it twist a little tighter as he drew his wand and held it casually.

"You are extremely lucky that Albus Dumbledore is standing right outside, or I would obliterate you where your stand. You don't know me, but be assured that I am entirely capable of it." His voice was frigid. Dudley started to cry messily, clinging to Petunia who stood straight as a rod, but Sirius did not care. Let the cowardly runt cry.

" _How dare you threaten_ -" Vernon exclaimed, apoplectic.

"SHUT. UP."

Sirius' breath was whistling through his nose. A miniature bolt of lightning crackled from his wand tip, charging the air and burning a tiny star-shape onto the clean linoleum floor. Petunia whimpered and Dudley scrambled behind her. Vernon's rage instantly transformed. He cowered back, his girth enough to cover his rail-thin wife and roly-poly five-year-old.

"So what do I do?" Sirius wondered aloud, viciously rolling the wand in his fingers. "I have half a mind to turn your whole family into cockroaches, but using human transfiguration on a muggle is against the law. I have no intention of returning to prison."

Vernon looked like he might hurl if he opened his mouth. This was probably for the best, for Sirius' hold on his temper was fragile at best. Another word from Harry's whale-like uncle might just send him over the edge. But his thoughts were astonishingly clear, calculating and fast, as if he were in a battle. Only this time the enemy was a trio of muggles and the demon of Azkaban urging him to kill them on the spot.

"I spent a lot of time thinking about justice in prison. After all, I was sentenced without a trial for something I didn't do. So." He felt his lips stretch in a mocking smile, showing every one of his yellowed, rotting teeth. Petunia took a several skittering steps back, dragging the sobbing Dudley and statuesque husband with her. "We'll start with an undetectable shrinking charm, shall we? Just on the house interior. Harry had to live in a cupboard for… what was it, four years and five months? That was very cramped space for a child, I imagine it would be even worse for you." He gestured to Vernon in particular. "But, I'll be merciful, so we'll make it so you can at least fit through the doorways."

Petunia had the gall to look almost relieved at this. The beast in him snarled, and so did Sirius. "And don't even _think_ about moving out, or I will know. I promise I will treat the new place just the same. Poetic, don't you think?"

 _Not enough, not enough_ , shrieked the beast. But Sirius forced himself to ignore it. Remus would have been proud of him. Still, he spun away from the Dursleys before he did anything he regretted. He cast the spells silently, anger fuelling the magic without the need for words.

Petunia shrieked as the walls started close in on them. Dudley's sobs increased in amplitude as the chairs splintered around the table and Vernon gave a less than masculine yelp. Sirius stepped back into the hallway and listened to the din of breaking furniture throughout the house. Finally, the last creaks and snapping and pops died into silence. The Dursley's looked like sardines packed into the miniaturized kitchen.

The beast roared for one final word.

"If I find that you laid a hand on my godchild," he hissed to Vernon with menacing precision. "I will come back here. And next time, I will not be so lenient."

Vernon made a sound like a frightened animal.

Amazingly, however, Petunia still had some thimble full of courage left, for she chose that moment to speak. Her voice was small and shook alarmingly. "H-he… he had food. And a bed to sleep in. We d-did our p-part."

"But he didn't have love," he snapped. She flinched.

"I couldn't…" But her words faltered, meaning ambiguous. Sirius glared at her, but her lips pressed together, turning the skin around them milky. _Couldn't love him? Or_ _couldn't_ show _him you loved him?_

"Lily would be ashamed of you," he whispered. Then he left, slamming the door behind him.

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 **A/N: I re-wrote this at least three times before I was satisfied enough to post it. The characterization in this type of confrontation is complex, and reactions are hard to gauge. I hope the result is just without being either too cruel or too gentle. Also, I was kind of tired of staring at this chapter, so if you noticed any spelling or grammar errors, feel free to let me know via reviews or pms.**

 **Thanks for reading (and encouraging me to keep my head in the game with reviews ;))! Until next time...**


	6. Courage, Fear

**I'm back with another insanely long chapter! I swear I cut back a ton of stuff, but I didn't want to deprive you guys of important content. So here's another hearty chapter to hold you over!**

 **As usual, I am so grateful to everyone who leaves some sort of encouragement as reviews/favs/follows :)**

 **-Cat**

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Chapter 6

Courage/Fear

 _November 27, 1981_

He had wondered, standing there in rigid conflict, if the guards of Azkaban would be able to sense him. Across the expanse of ocean, he felt like he pressed a deeper hole in the fabric of humanity. A well of gravity for them to slither towards, to circle and tease until their greed became too much. But they never came.

And Remus could never cross. Wind had whipped his hair across his face. The salty spray stung on his cheeks, ground into the healing wounds on his face.

Still, he remained until the night was black and he could imagine the dark tower with its swarms of dementors.

Why had he gone there?

Whatever questions he had for Sirius, whatever he had wanted to whisper or scream at him, they were not enough to force him across the water. He was afraid.

He was afraid that he would look into the traitors crystal blue eyes and see sanity.

 _When did we lose you, Padfoot?_

A solid pounding at the flimsy door startled Remus from his thoughts. He unclenched his fists and checked the time. It was very late. He had not been sleeping well since… since Halloween. He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled.

He had moved into a flat in Hackney, a use-stained place with flimsy walls that shivered away dust while the neighbors hosted raucous parties. He spoke to no one. In the days since the moon (the grief) had nearly killed him, he had proceeded to numbly go through motions of life. He left his flat only to sweep the floors and wash the dishes in a local wizarding joint where the clients were shifty and questions rarely asked. A small stack of papers was growing in the corner by the door, unanswered letters from Dumbledore, from Moody, from the Department of Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures, and even Professor McGonagall.

He needed the isolation.

But _he_ haunted Remus like a bad dream. He clung to everything, more parasitic than the sapping anguish of death. Because he wasn't dead. Remus never stood at his grave, too numb for weeping. He was alive and he had betrayed them and he wouldn't leave Remus alone.

Remus could not even remember without him being there. So he tried not to remember.

The knocking repeated, louder this time. Remus stretched stiff muscles and painfully untangled himself from his threadbare blanket. The single room was cold and damp with the coming winter. The thin walls that let in the music and the angry drunken shouts also let in the chill. A candle flickered with a pale light in the corner, casting his thin shadow against the wall like a ghost as he crossed the creaking floorboards. Old instinct sent a spark of electric caution down his wand arm, which he held close to his pocket. He should not have visitors. No one but the owls who delivered his letters knew where he lived now.

"Who's there?" he asked through the door. His voice was scratchy from disuse.

"Moody. Open the bloody door."

Somewhat unsurprised that Moody was the one to track him down, Remus opened it, revealing the auror in the grimy hallway. A bowler hat was pulled low over his electric blue eye, which seemed to glow in the gloom from the pitted face. Under his arm was tucked, inexplicably, a cardboard box.

"What do you want?"

"A stiff drink and the rest of the bloody Death Eaters behind bars, but we can't all get want we want," he deadpanned.

"I can't seem to get rid of you, can I?" Remus sighed.

"No. Let me in, it's freezing out here."

"It won't be much better in here," the werewolf grumbled, wishing he were not so polite and could turn the auror away. The odd, thunking gait followed Remus into his cramped quarters. Remus gestured vaguely for Moody to seat himself on the deflated couch (which was truthfully a trunk of unpacked possessions clumsily transfigured by the werewolf in desperation for a place to lay down). Moody dumped the box on the floor and sank down, stretching out his claw foot in front of him.

"Tea?" Remus offered curtly, heading towards the stove.

"Please," Moody grunted. As Remus filled the pot with water he could feel the magical eye boring into his back. "How're y'feeling?"

"You don't have to check on me," Remus pointed out, evading the question. He set the kettle to heat and turned to Moody, crossing his arms.

Moody gave him an incredulous raise of an eyebrow, which was bisected by a recent pink scar. And now that he was in the light, Remus realized that a large chunk of his nose was completely gone. He was certain the auror's nose had been more or less whole last time they encountered one another. Remus opened his mouth to ask, but Moody cut across him, clearly still stuck on the topic of Remus' health. "You're forgetting that I'm the one who dragged your ass to St. Mungo's after the full moon. Not to mention the other events of this month. Forgive me for being a little cautious."

The ungodly quartet of gashes across Remus' chest twinged as a reminder, syncing with the twinge of the empty place in his chest. "Don't you have better things to do?" he pointed out. "Like catching the Death Eaters that tortured the Longbottoms? I haven't seen any success in the papers."

This left a bad taste in his mouth. Because he checked the paper every day, wanting to see them caught, wanting to see justice done (maybe even revenge). But it would not bring any of those lost back, and each day only left him even more drained. So he was convincing himself to let it go. To stop. Just stop-

"Can't. Mandatory probation. So how are you feeling?" Moody asked again.

"Peachy," Remus lied bluntly. Nevermind that his muscles seemed to be made of sand and his heart of lead. He focused on Moody's first statement. "Mandatory probation? What did you do, scream 'constant vigilance' at the minister from behind a cupboard?"

"Glad to see your piss-poor sense of humor isn't dead," Mad-Eye quipped dryly. "No, I killed someone in the field. It used to be protocol in the days before the war took a turn for the worse. Business has slowed down, so some of the old rules are being reinstated. Only a day, I'll be back tomorrow." Moody's expression told Remus exactly how he felt about being forced to take a vacation (however small) from the hunt. But underneath that crusty shell, Remus sensed something uncertain. The kettle whistled shrilly as a distraction, and he quickly took it off the heat.

"Rosier," Remus remembered aloud, visualizing the article in the _Daily Prophet_ this morning. The details had been vague, a report of the attempted capture followed by an angry tirade about the scumbags getting away with their crimes. The public opinion of the Ministry's law enforcement was quickly degrading. "I see he put up a fight." Remus indicated Moody's nasal adjustment with the tin of tea.

"Yep. Cursed off, no fixing it," Moody said airily, as if he had accepted the loss of a favorite quill, rather than body part. And there it was again, Remus was certain now. A shadow lingered in Moody's human eye.

"There's more to this story."

"Hmph. Should've been an auror, Lupin. Instincts like yours."

Remus shrugged. He should have been a lot of things, but none of that seemed to matter. He stopped himself from questioning Moody further about the fight. He finished pouring the tea and brought a cup to Moody. The auror accepted it, but kept his eyes fixed on Remus.

"You curious about the story?" he challenged.

Remus sank down onto the couch next to the auror and replied shortly, "No."

"What happened, forget how to care?"

"Another Death Eater is gone. End of story." His walls tightened around that burning desire for vengeance.

"He put up a hell of a fight. Unlike Rosier to fight that hard, he was always a coward. Why do you think that is?"

"Maybe he just didn't want to go to Azkaban," Remus bit out, annoyed by how even the mention of the place brought up bile in his throat. Because he didn't care. He shouldn't care.

"No, there's more to it than that."

"Why are you even discussing this with me? Pity?"

"I told you already. Good instincts. There's a reason Dumbledore always trusted your analysis of Death Eater movements during the war."

"Yeah, well the war's over, Mad-Eye," Remus snapped harshly. "Congratulations, you've tied up another loose end, you've still got a mission, you're still- _fuck._ " He stopped himself, his breath coming coarse and jagged and loud in his ears. His vision fuzzed out. He was losing it, he could feel the cracks in his iron control, emotion oozing through like poison. Despite all his hard-won control, Remus Lupin was finally breaking. He had a reckless, insane desire to laugh, but then he remembered Siriu- _his_ reaction and sobered quickly. "I'm not-I can't-" he faltered. "I have to move on."

"You really think it's over?" Mad-Eye was studying him narrowly, leveling his words carefully.

Remus inhaled harshly, the sound whistling through his nose, pulling his reply together like shards of glass. "Voldemort is dead."

"You're an intelligent man, Remus, and I know Dumbledore's spoken to you otherwise. Do you really think he's gone?"

 _We are dogged by shadows._

"What do you want from me, Mad-Eye?" Remus asked, a weary echo.

"I want you to care about something other than your own misery, Lupin."

Remus did not bother denying that he was miserable, but it stung nonetheless. "That isn't up to you."

"Then whose job is it?" Mad-Eye demanded, his voice suddenly so loud that Remus actually jumped, spilling undrunk tea onto his hands.

"Not. Yours." He passed the teacup from hand to hand to shake diluted droplets from his fingers.

"You've been ignoring everyone else," Mad-Eye snapped. "I've been talking to Dumbledore and you've been avoiding him and McGonagall, despite their attempts to reach out to you."

"So what?" Remus ground out between his teeth. He was just about done with this conversation. Mad-Eye seemed to inflate with frustration.

"The Potters and Pettigrew are dead and they aren't coming back," he barked fiercely, unapologetically. Remus flinched again, spilling even more tea with shock, but Mad-Eye continued. "The Longbottoms are insane, and Black probably is too by now. The culprits are in the wind, avoiding capture rather successfully, I might add. Each day that passes they could be deeper and deeper underground.

"Yes, your closest friends are gone, and you survived and that _sucks_. But you've got to get it through that thick skull of yours that people still care about you, and, dare I say, _need_ you around. You might be the only person on this earth who cares about Harry Potter more than the old codger at Hogwarts. So I want you to pull yourself together by whatever means necessary and help me figure out this mess!"

Remus felt his jaw working, but his vocal chords seemed to have vanished. Mad-Eye was still speaking, blue eye rolling, gnarled face set like stone.

"There's something dark growing in the shadows, Lupin, something that won't die off on its own. The Dark Lord _will_ return, denial or not, and when he does, Harry Potter will be in more danger than he was before. When that happens, you can't be this shell of a man you're pretending to be. So if you can't do it for yourself, then for the sake of the boy, _give a fucking damn_."

Mad-Eye took a deep breath at the end his rant, and then sipped his tea, glaring at it as if it had done him personal harm. Remus realized his mouth was hanging open and shut it with a click of his teeth. Around him, the flat had suddenly sharpened in its dreary unkemptness. The silence was awkward, but Mad-Eye did not seem to notice or care. Remus realized he was expecting a response, but could not think of anything to say except-

"I went to Azkaban."

Mad-Eye's mismatched eyebrows rose. Apparently he had not expected that. Remus swallowed with difficulty. He could still hear the roaring waves in his ears, how the water crashed against the ominous cliffs with a thunderous fury.

"Not… not inside. I don't know why I… I was going to. Talk to h-him, I mean, but… I couldn't leave the shore. Spent the whole day there actually," Remus said softly, with a low snort of self-deprecation. "I don't know what I was expecting to feel."

"When was this?"

"Couple days after I left St. Mungo's. I didn't know what else to do."

That was all Remus was willing to admit for now. He would not say that he had been numb since then. That he slept the rest of the time he was not working. That his escape into unconsciousness was always interrupted by horrifying nightmares. That when he woke, he would go to Surrey and spend the rest of the night on the playground swingset, watching the entrance to Privet Drive like a sentinel. That the only reason he had not drowned himself in firewhiskey every night was because that was what Sirius would do.

The hurt ran too deep to be reminded of him by the burning alcohol.

And still, everything else reminded him of Sirius anyway.

And if not Sirius, it was a glint of James' glasses, a flash of red hair in a crowd, an artist on a street corner, tongue between his teeth like Peter's.

But despite all that he left unsaid, Mad-Eye looked at him as if he knew every detail. Thankfully, the auror seemed incapable of expressing any pity with his unnerving pair of eyes. He considered him with an auror's steady gaze. Then he sighed heavily.

"I'm not here to tell you how to deal with your grief, Remus," he rumbled softly. Remus twitched at the use of his first name. "I'm here because, for whatever reason, in spite of your determination to keep me at arm's length, I've decided to care about what happens to you." The way Mad-Eye said this was gruff and blunt as usual, but Remus saw the honesty there. Suddenly he could not look at Mad-Eye, so he let his eyes rest on the remaining tea clenched in his white-knuckled fists.

"Black made his choice," Mad-Eye went on. "The way you deal with the aftermath is your choice."

Remus swallowed again to get rid of the hard lump forming in his throat. He couldn't talk about this. He was far too raw.

"Tell me what happened to Rosier," he said hoarsely. A glance in Mad-Eye's direction showed him that the corner of the crooked mouth had flitted upwards. Then Mad-Eye launched into a thorough report.

"Rufus Scrimgeour, Nelson Hapley, and I have been heading the activities involving the remaining Death Eaters suspected in torturing the Longbottoms. We had been tracking Rosier and finally had him cornered in Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley. I went in to apprehend, Scrimgeour covered the back entrance and Hapley covered the front. We thought he was alone, but when I burst into the back room, he was with two others. One was wearing a mask, but the other was Fenrir Greyback."

Remus could not help a faint expression of surprise here. Greyback never struck him as following anyone other than himself or Voldemort.

"Should have seen it coming, constant vigilance." Mad-Eye shook his head in frustration. "They scattered. I engaged Rosier before he could escape, hoping that the others would be stopped by Scrimgeour and Hapley. We dueled." Here, Mad-Eye's eyebrows knit together. "Like I said, he put up a hell of a fight, more than expected, especially since Hapley came rushing in after a few minutes and he was outnumbered."

"What happened to Greyback and the masked Death Eater?" Remus asked, absorbing the information.

"Overpowered Scrimgeour, took him by surprise. He's okay, but he was in St. Mungo's overnight. Don't understand why they were there in the first place. What bothers me is the way Rosier fought. There was something odd about his offense."

"What do you mean?"

"I thought he was going to surrender," Mad-Eye brooded, tapping his teacup impatiently. "You can see it in a person's eyes when they're ready to give up, and he had that look in his eyes. Then it switched, deadened almost. My defense had gone down. Before I knew it, he had cursed off a chunk of my nose and was fighting like a man who does not care about his life. Eventually I had no choice. Blasted him against a brick wall. Shattered his skull, he was dead in seconds."

"You think he was under the Imperius curse," Remus stated, the conclusion obvious.

"That's exactly what I think," Mad-Eye replied, glad Remus had caught on. Remus sipped his tea thoughtfully.

"You said Greyback and the other Death Eater fled. Was there anyone else in the building?"

"Not that we know of. We checked the premises afterwards, but found no sign, which does not mean that no one was there, just that whoever it was covered their tracks. And why imperize Rosier in the first place?"

Remus frowned, disturbed by the thought of anyone, even a Death Eater, being controlled like a puppet. Three people in the building. Three aurors. Perhaps a seventh person, a puppetmaster orchestrating a suicidal duel. His brain scrabbled with the pieces of the puzzle. His problem-solving skills felt rusty. It felt like a hundred lifetimes had passed since he was a spy for the Order.

"If Rosier was in Borgin and Burkes's for a meeting," Remus reasoned out loud. "Who's to say all those invited had arrived when you ambushed them? And who called the meeting in the first place?"

"Uncertain," Mad-Eye said. "I've examined the possibility that it was another Death Eater higher up in You-Know-Who's ranks, but many in his inner circle are in Azkaban. Still, we never had a clear picture of that hierarchy, neither in the auror department nor in the Order of the Phoenix. The reason You-Know-Who was so effective in spreading terror was that no one knew who to trust. Anyone could have the ear of the Dark Lord, coworkers, leaders, friends."

Remus' stomach swooped, his mind briefly picturing a cell in Azkaban that he did not have the courage to visit.

"There are still anonymous servants loyal to Voldemort out there," he concluded. "And one of them called a meeting that you accidentally interrupted."

"Not the first either," Mad-Eye grunted. "They'd met before. Otherwise Rosier would not have sensitive information to their cause, whatever it is."

"You think that he was forced to fight to the death because the person who cursed him did not want the Ministry finding out what they were doing."

"Do you agree?"

Remus pondered silently. "Could they just be preserving anonymity? The Longbottom's attach has stirred up a lot of anger. The Death Eaters responsible will not be shown mercy."

"Perhaps." Mad-Eye's tone indicated that he believed that there was more to it than simply evading justice for a singular crime.

"What else would they be doing?" Remus wondered quietly. "Do they seriously think that finding Voldemort is just a matter of torturing the right people for information?"

"I don't know. I killed the man who could have told us. Our only lead right now is Fenrir Greyback."

Remus exhaled slowly. The ache in his muscles had increased and his injured hip was starting to throb. He took another sip of his tea and asked faintly, "Does Dumbledore know any of this?"

"He's aware, as always. He wanted your take on things."

Remus glared balefully at Mad-Eye. "You're not going to stop checking in on me, are you?"

"No, I'm not."

Remus was silent for a moment. Then he murmured in a soft voice, "That's probably good. But if you rant at me again, you'll be doing it from the other side of the door."

"Hmph. Get some sleep, Lupin. You look done in." The auror pushed himself to his feet and stumped towards the door.

"Wait, your box-"

"It's yours."

"What is it?"

"Some stuff of Black's."

Remus felt the color drain from his face. "I don't want it."

"It's a courtesy, Lupin." Mad-Eye gave him a one-eyed glare, shoving his bowler hat back over the other. "These are the things released from evidence. They're going to his Uncle Alphard, but I thought you might want to go through them first."

"I… I can't. He can't be a part of my life anymore."

Mad-Eye sighed and the black, beady eye softened. "Look Remus," Mad-Eye started, impossibly gentle for the gruff wizard. "You laid flowers on the Potters' and Pettigrew's graves. This is different than death, but it's still grief. Azkaban was too big a step. Start small. Go through Black's stuff." He scanned the bare apartment, analyzing the emptiness. "I'll be back for the December moon-don't argue-and I'll take what you don't want."

Numbly, Remus tried to speak, but found he could not make a sound.

"Think over what I said," Mad-Eye continued. He opened the door and the smell of cigarette smoke wafted into the flat. "I can't fix what happened on Halloween, Lupin, but I can damn well try to stop You-Know-Who from returning. Whether or not you help me is entirely up to you."

And before Remus could reply, Mad-Eye had slammed the door firmly behind him. Remus was left alone with the box of possessions.

He stared at the ordinary cardboard exterior for a long time. Long enough that the neighbors quieted their shouting and their music. Deathly silence permeated the flat. Finally, feeling disconnected from his body, he watched his scarred hands delicately lift the flaps on the top of the box. Then he froze, his breath caught in his lungs.

On top was a stack of letters, written in various handwritings, all addressed to Sirius. James' untidy scrawl, Peter's small print, Remus' own neat cursive, Lily's elegance. _Dear Padfoot, Dear Padfoot, Dear Padfoot. Love, Lily. Love, Prongs. Love, Wormtail._

 _Love, Moony._

 _Dear Moony._

Unsent. He couldn't read the rest.

Underneath were pictures, some punctured by pushpins, all moving, all laughing.

A whole separate stack of pictures, paperclipped and labeled with a sticky note that said: "Blackmail."

Notes, office supplies, pranks.

Muggle magazines featuring motorcycles and girls.

Sheet music: Debussey, Chopin, Beethoven.

A Gryffindor scarf. Attached to this were too many memories. He hurriedly pushed it out of sight.

Books.

 _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six._

A stone loosened in his throat, rolled painfully. Remus removed the book, brushed the graffitied cover, the spine where the letters were filled in. Then he put it, together with the letters and the photographs, aside.

Everything else could go to Alphard Black.

It was the action of closing the box that finally undid him. A block dislodged and the pain was like his ribs cracking, like his spine snapping, like heartbreak. Once the tears started, he could not stop them.

" _You're much more than this, Moony."_

" _In your eyes."_

" _No one else should matter. You are_ more _that what they think, Remus."_

" _Thank you," he whispered. But the wolf inside of him weighed heavily._

 _Blue eyes, thoughtful. Solemn. Uncompromised._

…

" _You know we'll never leave you, right?"_

* * *

 _March 28, 1986_

Harry and Dumbledore were talking in the clear morning of Privet Drive when Sirius emerged from the Dursley house. Harry's eyes were rapt with attention as Dumbledore explained what would happen when they touched the faded stuffed dragon. Truthfully, the toy was borrowed from the Weasley family as something fun and non-threatening for the three of them to use as a Portkey.

"But...that sounds like magic," Harry pointed out. His little face was pinched with confusion.

"It is magic, Harry."

"Aunt Petunia says that there's no such thing."

"Well," Dumbledore responded, his voice level and gaze searching. "Some people have trouble believing in magic because it's too hard to understand."

"Oh," Harry said slowly. "So...do you believe in magic?"

"I do," Dumbledore said, very solemn. His piercing gaze flickered to Sirius over crystal half moon spectacles. Sirius took a few calming breaths. His grip was still very tight on the fir wand, the bones of his knuckles showing through his skin. Dumbledore's eyes traveled the wand appraisingly.

"They got the message," Sirius assured Dumbledore shortly. He still felt like the Dursleys deserved worse, and could not shake the weight of inadequacy. He would probably be dwelling on the four years Harry had spent with them for a long time.

"I'm sure."

"I didn't hurt them," Sirius explained with some annoyance. "Just… gave them a taste of their own medicine. And put the bloody fear of God in them."

The silver eyebrows rose just slightly in question.

Sirius sighed. "I shrunk the house," he admitted. "It'll wear off in a week or so. I may not have told them that."

The corner of Dumbledore's mouth twitched. It was probably just Sirius' imagination. "Well, the Ministry does not make a practice of paying house calls to muggles. They may never know, since I was the one who handled Harry's guardianship."

"Yes. You were." Sirius could not keep the accusation out of his voice then.

Dumbledore's eyes lost some of their twinkle. But instead of responding to Sirius, he merely said, "I was just explaining to Harry how you were going to travel back home."

 _Home._ The warmth of the word loosened Sirius' death-grip on his wand. He tucked the thin stick of wood into his pocket. Harry scrutinized the movement. He had remained very quiet while Sirius and Dumbledore talked, simply observing the two wizards, yellow backpack clutched in his hands.

"Are you ready to go, then?" Sirius asked him.

"We're going to use magic," Harry told Sirius shyly.

Now that the surly presence of the Dursleys was gone, Sirius felt something good and terrifying bloom in his chest.

"That's right, Prongslet," he murmured softly.

Harry's head cocked at the nickname, tousling his messy hair. But he did not ask, merely bit his lip and looked to Dumbledore.

"I'll be going to inform Minister Bagnold that we've successfully extracted your godson," Dumbledore addressed Sirius. "The wards that we set on your place yesterday will be maintained by myself and Filius. The Ministry won't get involved with the transition, but the safety of Harry Potter is something they are interested in. I apologize, Sirius, but the Minister was adamant."

"I don't want their bureaucratic nonsense within fifty miles of me and Harry," Sirius grit out, tempering his raised voice for Harry's benefit. A chill of bad blood shuddered up his spine. Even though he knew the evidence was stacked against him, it would be a long time before he forgave the miscarriage of justice, if he ever did.

"I understand that, Sirius. Fortunately, I have a small amount of sway as well and made sure this fell into the hands of friends. Alastor Moody has selected a few trusted aurors to patrol the property in pairs for the next few weeks. I believe he has taken the first shift himself, but he'll stay out of sight. You'll have time alone to get to know each other again."

"Thanks," Sirius said, perhaps a little stiffly. "But you're still not off the hook for what happened here."

"I would expect nothing less," Dumbledore said gravely. Then he stepped forward and handed him the stuffed dragon. "Constant vigilance, Sirius," he muttered under his breath so Harry could not hear. "This is not over."

Sirius swallowed and nodded.

"Good-bye, Harry," Dumbledore then said pleasantly.

Harry blushed. "Bye, Mr. Dumbledore."

Then Dumbledore winked at the little boy and disappeared with a loud crack and swirl of amythest robes. Harry stared at the spot where the Headmaster had been standing moments before, gobsmacked.

"Are we going to do _that_?" he asked, awed.

"Not quite," Sirius chuckled. The air tasted so fresh in his mouth. Finally, it was just him and Harry. He knelt at Harry's level. "Let's get your backpack on, and then we can go."

He helped pull the little yellow straps over Harry's scrawny shoulders and adjust it on his back. Then he silently offered his hand. Harry studied it, then cautiously slipped his own into it. It was small and unblemished compared to the wasted paw of Azkaban. But Harry did not seem to notice.

"Now with your other hand, touch some part of Mr. Dragon, here," Sirius instructed. Harry grabbed tightly to one of the wings, so Sirius took the other. "It's going to feel a little funny, but I promise you'll be okay."

"Okay," Harry said, watching him with tiniest beginnings of trust. Sirius' heart swooped.

"Take a good look, Harry," he said. "You won't be coming back here again."

Then there was a jerk behind his navel and they spun through a colorful soup of reality to the cottage near Ottery St. Catchpole. Harry gasped as they landed, but Sirius shot out a quick hand to catch him before he toppled over. The portkey had transported them into the middle of the open field filled with new grass bursting through the dead carpet of fronds.

Harry stared at the ordinary dragon toy, his jaw hanging open. He was clutching the straps of his yellow backpack with white knuckles.

"Sorry. It's a little strange the first time. You okay?"

"I… I think so," Harry replied. He was beginning to notice their new surroundings. He scanned the field and the copse of trees at the edge of the grass. Then his eyes landed on the little cottage and brightened. "Is that your house?"

"Our house," Sirius corrected.

"Oh. _Our_ house," Harry repeated, trying the words. "Was that… that really was magic?"

"It was really magic," Sirius replied with a small smile. "Just like your mom and dad."

"They were magic too?" Harry asked with wonder. "But…" He chewed his lip and stopped, his eyes trailing to his feet.

"Harry?"

"Nevermind," he said softly.

Sirius' heart dropped. He lowered himself down in the damp grass so that he could look Harry directly in the eyes.

"Listen to me, Prongslet," he instructed gently. "It was wrong of the Dursleys to say questions were not allowed. You can ask any question you want from now on. Okay?"

"Okay…" Harry watched him, evaluating him. Sirius hated the hesitation he saw in that furrowed brow. It would take time to undo whatever had happened in that household. Harry would not be able to fully trust his word for a while. "Why… why do you call me that?"

"Prongslet?" Sirius chuckled.

"Prongslet." Harry tried each syllable with concentration.

"It's a nickname, I guess," Sirius shrugged. "Like Dumbledore said, me and your dad were best mates. I called him Prongs so… It's like you're a little Prongs."

"You liked my mum and dad?" Now Harry was openly watching Sirius with shining eyes. "Was my mum pretty?"

"Yes, very." Sirius frowned. "Didn't your aunt show you any pictures?"

Harry shook his head, causing the messy jet black locks to rearrange themselves even more chaotically. Sirius glimpsed the lightning bolt scar briefly. He had a lot of explaining to do, it seemed. He struggled to keep his expression neutral and fought off another wave of anger at Petunia and Vernon.

"Well… I'll find you some pictures then. And I promise I'll tell you everything about your parents, Harry. Your dad and I had some amazing adventures in school. And your mum was quite a clever witch."

"Isn't… isn't witch a mean word?"

"No, no, Harry, it's what she was. _Magic._ And your dad was a wizard. So are you."

"I'm magic?" Harry sounded dubious now. "But… I'm not… I'm not that special. I'm just Harry."

Sirius could not help it. He threw back his head and laughed wholeheartedly. "Harry, trust me, if you weren't magic I'd eat my own broom."

"That does not sound very good." But Harry was giggling now too.

"How about I show you our cottage?" Sirius suggested. He stretched out his hand again.  
"It's very nice. I think you'll like it."

Harry took his hand without as much hesitation this time. Sirius noticed that his fingers were cold from the chilly day. For once, he was something other than embarrassed that he kept the little cottage overbearingly warm (something about being cold indoors was too much like Azkaban). Their shoes swished through the tangly grass until they stumbled onto the shorter grass of the lawn.

Sirius did a final glance around the property as they approached the door. He could not see the wards, but it was a comfort knowing that they were there. And if Mad-Eye was stomping around the grounds, he left no trace. The strange smell in the trees that morning had put him on edge, in addition to the conversation he'd had with Dumbledore yesterday as the Headmaster and Flitwick activated the wards. He had explained to Sirius a little more about the potential threat to Harry's safety. Sirius felt a burning in his throat again as he thought of the power of Lily's sacrifice that night. And a wash of fear in his gut as he remembered Dumbledore's warning. Voldemort was not dead.

" _But what about the prophecy? Harry defeated him… it should be over, right?"_

" _I'm afraid Halloween was just the beginning." Dumbledore's eyes were old and haunted as he looked over the tangled fields. Flitwick could barely be seen above the tall grass, but a stream of magic from his wand rose like a fountain into the air. "Harry is certainly the chosen one mentioned in the prophecy, but… Death has not had his fill of either the Chosen One or Voldemort."_

 _A chill made goosebumps rise on Sirius' spine. "'Neither can live while the other survives,'" he repeated in a whisper._

" _And Voldemort survives. His shadow still clings to this world, waiting… And while he lingers, there are those who are still seduced by his power. Even now, we must remain vigilant." Weariness colored the Headmaster's voice. He exhaled slowly. "It will be a long time before Harry Potter is truly safe."_

That had sent a current of fear running through Sirius' veins that clutched at him even more intensely now. He squeezed the small hand clasped in his palm a little harder, almost overwhelmed with it. When was the last time he had felt this kind of terror?

"Are you okay, Mr. Sirius?"

Sirius looked down to see those liquid emerald eyes gazing up at him, the child-like face scrunched with concern. He was still holding the portkey dragon. Sirius swallowed down the hardness in his throat. "I'm just fine, Harry. And you can call me Sirius if you want. Or Uncle Padfoot. That's what your dad wanted you to call me."

"I like that," Harry giggled bashfully. "Padfoot."

And just like that, the fear was buried under another burst of warmth. Sirius grinned broadly. He withdrew his wand and unlocked the door with a flourish.

"Welcome home," he told Harry.

Harry held fast to his hand as they entered, he eyes wide as they looked around, taking in the plain walls with the flower paintings.

"Through here is the kitchen," Sirius pointed to their left. He noticed a fresh plate of sandwiches and made a mental note to thank Molly later. "And straight ahead you can see the living room. There's a great big window in there. I'm thinking we could build a porch too, if you'd like. And here's the hallway," Sirius rambled on. "My room's at the end. And yours is just here."

"My own room?" Harry asked.

"Your very own," Sirius promised, thinking of the cupboard under the stairs. Harry finally released his hand and stepped inside, looking awed. He ran his little hands over the dresser and the twin sized bed, placing the stuffed dragon very purposefully on the quilt. It was a soft and worn one of Molly's design, deep blue and patterned with yellow stars.

"You can choose a color for the walls too," Sirius continued, watching with a small smile spreading on his face. "I can charm the ceiling to look like the night sky when you go to bed. And I suspect we'll need to get you your own clothes." His mind jumped from topic to topic as he eyed the small yellow backpack with distaste. "But that can wait until tomorrow if you'd like. I have a friend who I think will be better at that sort of thing."

"Okay," Harry said brightly. He removed the yellow backpack and arranged it gently on the dresser. "Can we make the walls green?" he asked, bashful again.

"Any kind of green you want," Sirius replied enthusiastically.

And from there the day rolled on like a gentle ocean. Molly's sandwiches made for a delicious lunch. They came with a note promising that Arthur would drop by with dinner later. Sirius really needed to learn how to cook, he realized, glancing at the skinny five-year-old. He made a mental note to ask Arthur to bring by some cookbooks next time he came. James snickered at him in his head, but his eyes were proud.

" _In all my days, I would never imagine_ you _learning something as domestic as cooking, Padfoot,"_ he teased. " _You better not poison anyone, especially Harry."_

" _I won't,"_ Sirius replied indignantly.

There were not many ways to entertain a little boy in the isolated cottage. But Harry was well-adapted to entertaining himself wherever he was. He pulled his action figure knights from the yellow backpack and toted them into the living room, after asking politely if he were allowed to play in there. Sirius grinned and said, "Of course," and Harry settled himself on the windowsill with his knights.

For a long while, Sirius was content to simply watch and ask innocent questions, his mind dwelling on the darker ones. Despite this, despite the brand-new strange fear swirling in his chest, he felt... moderately less haunted. Dementors and prison cells and loneliness faded into the background.

He learned that Harry knew all his letters and could count to thirty.

He was a fast runner and wished that he had a bicycle like Dudley. (Here, Sirius interjected and enthusiastically explained how wizards ride on broomsticks and that maybe they could go look at them in a shop one day).

He liked to draw pictures, and his favorite things to draw were birds and knights. And once, he drew a picture of Dudley, except he made him look like a pig.

Sirius laughed out loud at this and Harry smiled shyly.

"I had to stay in my cupboard all day after that, though," he said quietly. "So I didn't do it again."

Sirius sobered immediately, righteous anger bubbling to the surface again. Harry had gotten bored of his toys and was now running around the room with the stuffed dragon as if he had not said anything troubling.

"Have you ever seen a dragon?"

"No," Sirius responded, struggling to keep his tone light.

"Maybe one day, we can go see one. Dragons are real too, right?"

"Yes, dragons are definitely real. I have a friend who really likes dragons too. I'll introduce you to him sometime."

"Okay. How old are you?"

"Uh..." Sirius had to think for a moment. "Twenty-five."

" _Wow_. That's so old!"

"Hey!" Sirius laughed indignantly. "It's not that old!"

"Not as old as Mr. Dumbledore I guess," Harry replied with a thoughtful expression. "I bet he's almost a hundred. Do you think he can grow his beard until it touches the ground?"

"Um, maybe," Sirius offered, struggling to keep up with Harry's curiosity.

"What's your favorite animal?"

"Dog," he answered quickly. "Definitely a dog."

"Me too!" Harry squealed, delighted to have something in common.

"Really?" Sirius asked, mischief tingling in his grin. Oh, it had been so long since he'd done anything mischievous.

"Well, not bulldogs," Harry added as an afterthought, grimacing.

"But other dogs are cool?"

"Yes, all other dogs."

"Good," Sirius replied, his face splitting. "Because I have a very special secret that you should know."

"What? What is it?" Harry forgot his dragon-flying for a moment and looked at Sirius, emerald eyes shining with intrigue. "Do you have a dog?"

Instead of replying, Sirius touched the handle of the wand in his pocket and transformed into Padfoot. Harry shouted in surprise, eyes going impossibly wide and jaw dropping. Padfoot panted excitedly, pink tongue lolling out. His tail whipped back and forth and he pranced on his furry toes. He trotted up to the startled boy and gave him a sloppy, doggy kiss.

Harry giggled and scratched his ears. Sirius snuffled his face and messy hair. He _smelled_ of James and Lily and a hint of something new and uniquely _Harry._

"Padfoot," Harry realized, with some amazement. Oh, he was smart. Padfoot huffed a canine snort of amusement. Just like his mother. And speaking of Lily, she would never have allowed Sirius to play a game of chase in the house, but he wagged his tail wildly and woofed, before tearing through the living room. Harry scrambled after him, whooping with laughter.

Sirius kept himself from getting too rambunctious, careful to navigate corners slowly so that Harry would copy his precautions. But, Merlin, it was exhilarating just to make Harry's eyes light up like that.

Of course, the game wore them out completely, and as the sun dipped towards a seashell pink horizon, Arthur found them lounging in the buttery light. Harry had started another game of make-believe. His knights were exploring the undiscovered forest of Padfoot's fur and he almost did not notice the red-haired man enter through the front door (he had decided to apparate to the edge of the property instead of use the floo, since Harry was unfamiliar with all things magical).

"Oh, hullo Harry," Arthur greeted him, looking slightly bemused at the sight of the five-year-old and the enormous black dog. "Er… is Sirius here, somewhere?"

Sirius transformed back into himself quickly, having felt Harry go tense with surprise.

"Right here, Arthur," he said brightly.

Arthur did a funny kind of jump. "Oh, of course. I forgot you're an animagus. Interesting form, that."

"Harry, this is Mr. Weasley," Sirius said gently to Harry, who's hand was clinging to his pant-leg. "He's a friend of mine. Arthur, Harry."

"Very nice to meet you, Mr. Potter," Arthur said with a kind expression.

"Nice to meet you too," Harry replied. His initial shock of seeing a stranger in the living room was wearing off quickly. "Are… Are you a wizard too?"

"Indeed I am," Arthur chuckled. "But right now I'm just the delivery service. I have dinner from Molly. And she's also sent along a few of Ron's things. He's a growing lad and we were hoping Harry would fit into them."

"Perfect," Sirius said, frowning at the oversized t-shirt Harry currently wore. "Most of his clothes are much too big. You can leave them in here and we can go eat in the kitchen. Would you join us Arthur?"

"I've already eaten, but a cup of tea would be nice."

Sirius instructed Harry to go wash up before dinner, then helped Arthur unpack a bag that was giving off a mouth-watering aroma. He whistled. Molly had really outdone herself. There was a whole roast chicken stuffed with lemons, herbs, and garlic. Roasted carrots and potatoes came in a patterned dish, along with a loaf of crusty bread.

"You are a lucky man, Arthur Weasley," he gasped as he discovered a dessert of chilled custard and fresh strawberries.

"Don't I know it. Where's your flatware, Sirius?"

"Second drawer to the left of the sink."

He heard the drawer roll open, then a brief spell of hesitation.

"Are you sure this isn't a filing cabinet?"

Sirius looked over his shoulder and saw Arthur holding the thick folder on Remus' disappearance. _How did that-right. He'd thrown it there to hide it from Dumbledore._

"Oh, that. I've been meaning to get myself a filing cabinet actually."

He quickly retrieved the folder and tossed it into a different drawer, hiding the photo of Remus' face from view again. To his relief, Arthur frowned at him thoughtfully, but continued his task of setting the table in silence. By the time Sirius put the tea on, Harry was back, his hands pink and his expression stunned at the sight of their dinner.

Molly must have been blessed with a level of talent beyond any other chef in the world, because the meal was even better than the Hogwarts Opening Feasts. Considering what Sirius had been eating the last four years, it was heaven. Arthur kept up a friendly conversation with Harry, asking about his day and what his favorite parts were.

Sirius' heart soared when Harry said it was the best day ever.

When the plates were scraped clean, Harry was the first to leave the table, gathering his own plate as well as Sirius' in small hands and bearing it cautiously to the sink. Then, without a word, he dragged a chair to the sink and scrambled up on top. He stretched out his shorter arms and turned on the hot water, then scanned the counter top, looking confused.

"Is there soap?" he asked politely.

"You don't have to do that, Harry," Sirius said quickly. "We wizards do things a little differently than muggles. Scourgify!"

Suds bubbled up in the sink, then the water rinsed and drained, leaving sparkling clean dishes behind.

"Whoa!" Harry exclaimed. He picked up one of the plates and held it very close to his face. "That's cleaner than I could ever get it! Aunt Petunia would be happy if I could clean like that."

Why did Harry's most innocent comments weight so heavily on his heart? The good mood that the meal had effected dampened. What was he supposed to say to that? Arthur sensed the shadow growing over Sirius and he glanced at Harry with renewed softness.

"How about a bath before bedtime, Harry?" he said, changing the subject.

"I like baths," Harry smiled. He clambered down from the chair and disappeared from the kitchen. The two adults heard him start the water running in the washroom in the hall.

"Don't get in by yourself, Harry!" Arthur called after him. "Wait for me and Sirius!"

"Okay!" said Harry's voice.

Arthur pushed himself up from the table, giving Sirius a searching look. "I'm guessing a few unpleasant things were illuminated when you picked him up this morning."

"You have no idea," Sirius muttered, allowing some of his simmering anger into his voice. He could use a stiff glass of firewhiskey right about now. He sighed. "You don't have to stay, I know Molly could use your help at the Burrow."

"She'll be okay," Arthur assured him. "She has Percy. He's too responsible for his own good. He can handle Ron and Ginny while she wrestles with the twins. Besides, I have fifteen and a half years of experience in fatherhood under my belt. Trust me when I say, it's a good idea to establish a routine before bed with boys Harry's age. Let me help you out just for tonight."

"I really couldn't ask you-"

"Ever heard the phrase 'It takes a village'?" Arthur interrupted, heading for the washroom and rolling up his sleeves. Sirius rolled his eyes and followed the older man, unwilling to admit that the idea of raising Harry all alone did fill him with uncertainty. Excitement too, but that undercurrent of sheer terror had not left him all day.

As it turned out, it was a good thing that Arthur stayed, because Sirius did not know the first thing about helping a five-year-old take a bath. Harry was fairly independent, but Arthur knew clever spells to make the process easier and more entertaining. By the time Harry was wrapped in a fluffy towel, his eyes were beginning to droop. Once in his pajamas and curled under the covers with his dragon toy, he fell asleep almost instantly. He had had a rather exciting day.

Sirius watched him breath for a few minutes, enchanted starlight illuminating thick black lashes. Arthur left him to it, and Sirius could hear him quietly bustling in the kitchen, putting leftovers in the cold cabinet and setting a new pot of tea to heat. But his eyes were fixed on Harry. With his eyes closed, he could almost be James, so young and untouched by the darkness of the world. Except…

The lightning-shaped scar glimmered under his bangs.

" _Let me take him. Please." Begging. "I'm his godfather. Please-"_

 _There was blood in Harry's hair._

The horrific sight Lily's body, so still and lifeless, shredded through Sirius' lungs so suddenly, his breath caught and his eyes burned. Again, he could see her glassy eyes staring. What was the last thing she had seen? The last thing she'd felt? Did she know that her son would live? Did she know that James was already dead?

Sirius' fingertips felt the phantom wire rims of James' spectacles as he straightened them. Of course she did. Voldemort would never have reached the nursery if James had survived.

Harry sighed softly in sleep. Sirius swallowed sharply. He couldn't let them down. He drank in the sight of his godson one last time, then forced himself to leave the room.

Arthur was waiting for him in the kitchen, three mugs of tea steaming on the tabletop. Sirius glanced at the third mug, confused.

"You okay?" Arthur inquired mildly.

"Yeah," Sirius replied, not altogether truthful. "Who-?"

But his question was answered as Mad-Eye stumped in from the living room, surprisingly stealthy for a man with a wooden leg.

"Black," Mad-Eye growled in greeting. He placed a bunch of forms on the table, then sank down in one of the wooden chairs, causing it to creak.

"Mad-Eye. What are those?"

"Animagus registration forms. The Minister sent me with them. Said she was willing to overlook you being unregistered for only so long."

"Ah, right. 'Course."

"Most of them will be bloody useless, since they're preemptive forms about monitoring progress to full transformation. Which you've already achieved, apparently."

Sirius felt a satisfying swell of rebellious pride.

"So Pettigrew is a rat. What are you?"

"Dog," Arthur answered for him, settling into his own seat. "Gave me a bit of a shock earlier."

"There is something ironic about that," Mad-Eye grumbled. He took a gulp of scalding tea. "Dunno if he's contacted you, but Alphard Black has a bunch of your things if you want them back."

"He sent some stuff over a few days ago," Sirius replied. His own tea was too hot for his taste, so he cupped his hands around the mug, relishing in the heat on his palms instead. He remembered the box arriving, born by three owls. It was mostly clothes and different odds and ends from his office when he was working in the auror department. Relics of a past life. "I think he may have missed a few things, though…" he mused. His thoughts strayed to a sixth year textbook and several stacks of photos and letters, praying that they had not been destroyed or lost.

Mad-Eye's penetrating blue eye rolled over his face and his lips drew tight. "He didn't. Few things were still being kept in evidence. Ministry runs at a snail's pace these days, I'll try and speed up their release. And…" he trailed off, giving the steam rising from his mug a pensive look.

"And?" Sirius prompted.

"And Lupin may have taken some things as well," Mad-Eye finished.

"Remus?"

"Let him look through a box of your more… sentimental possessions. Don't know if he took anything, but he could have."

That would definitely explain the missing photos and letters. And the book.

"If he did, where would they be now?" he asked around a tight throat.

"You could try writing his father," the auror suggested.

 _Lyall_. Sirius felt a twinge of regret that he had not thought of Remus' father until now. Would he still live in the little house in the welsh countryside? Or would he have tried to move on? He had the abrupt feeling of being very far behind the rest of the world. He'd been thrust into the future with the weight of a thousand years added to his shoulders. Memories he had never wanted.

"Nothing out of the ordinary today," Mad-Eye reported, steering the subject away from rough waters. "Ministry leaks gossip like a sieve, so people definitely know that you have custody of Harry Potter. Luckily, you're location is still under wraps." Mad-Eye shot a distrustful glare at Arthur as he said this.

"I won't tell," Arthur said placatingly, unruffled by the paranoid auror's gruff attitude..

"Be sure you don't," Mad-Eye stated shortly. "I don't plan on anything happening under my watch." He paused, and Sirius could almost hear the word " _Again"_ floating into the room.

"I did notice something this morning," Sirius recalled. Mad-Eye's attention snapped to him. "I went out in my dog form to blow off some steam. There was a smell in the trees just beyond wards, only a few hours old. Could have just been a wandering muggle, but I thought you ought to know."

Arthur straightened.

"No such thing as coincidence," Mad-Eye growled. He studied Sirius with a glint in his eye. "This dog thing could be useful. Did you recognize the scent?"

"Parchment and ink. Clean clothes. Whoever it was spends time writing often enough that it sticks to him. And… blood. Ash. Those were very faint though, as if perhaps they had gotten on an item of clothing and hadn't quite washed out." He did not tell Mad-Eye about the sixth scent, just in case it was imagined. Besides, he had not been able to identify it.

"Hmmm," Mad-Eye gave a gravelly hum. "Constant vigilance for now. Nothing we can do but wait."

"I thought so." But it was still disappointing. It felt like all he did was watch and wait.

Mad-Eye finished off his tea in two more swallows. "Well, I'm heading out. Hapley has night shift."

"Nelson?" Sirius asked with mixed feelings. Nelson Hapley was James' old mentor in the auror department, kind faced and fierce. He had not seen him since… since his arrest.

Mad-Eye seemed to sense what was on his mind. "He was very fond of Potter. Wanted to do right by him back then. Still does. I trust him and so should you, despite old wounds."

"Right." Sirius did not know what else to say.

Mad-Eye stood, cutting a hulking figure in the small kitchen. Sirius walked with him to the front door. In the dark, he could just make out the silhouette of the other auror. His hand rose in greeting, which Sirius returned after a moment's hesitation.

"Take care," Mad-Eye muttered.

"Wait," Sirius murmured quietly so Arthur would not hear from the kitchen. "Why include the Longbottom file?"

Mad-Eye's magical eye spun in its socket. "There were many victims in the aftermath of the Dark Lord's defeat, Sirius. The Longbottoms were only the first and the investigation was highly publicized. The Ministry crowed over catching the perpetrators like it was some kind of victory, letting darker truths lie hidden instead of sully the goodwill of the people. They were so focused on convincing the world that evil had been eradicated that they could not see what was brewing in their own backyard." The blue eye stilled, focused on Sirius. "Willful ignorance welcomes the enemy. There's rot lingering in the ranks. This record only exists because I'm a paranoid son-of-a-bitch. Good thing too. The records at the Ministry have already been altered."

"There are people involved in Alice and Frank's torture in the Ministry?" Sirius realized with disgust.

"Are you really surprised? Think about who was at your trial," Mad-Eye growled. "They have Macnair doing sanctioned killing of dangerous creatures. And many Death Eaters come from old money. Never underestimate greed and need for recognition, Sirius."

"That's… this is…"

"A bloody mess, I know. And it starts with the Longbottoms. Perhaps even before then."

Sirius thought of the photos of Alice and Frank. So terribly empty. Fear curdled in his gut and he felt his blood slow.

"You don't think whoever was responsible for Remus' disappearance was behind what happened to the Longbottoms, do you?"

Mad-Eye was not one to convey sympathy, but his hard gaze softened regretfully. "I don't think. I know." He exhaled noisily. "Read the rest of the file, Black. And keep an eye on that godson of yours. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Sirius mumbled. He locked the door behind the auror and scrubbed his face, suddenly aware of how bone-deep exhausted he was.

"What was that all about?" Arthur asked when Sirius had returned to the kitchen. Casually put, but he had a knowing expression on his face. Having seven kids must have imbued him with special powers.

"Auror stuff," Sirius replied. It was not exactly untrue.

The red eyebrows rose and Arthur's eyes flickered to the drawer where Sirius had tossed Remus' investigation file.

"Well, I'd best be getting back. Molly will start to wonder where I'd got to."

"Tell her thank you for the meal," Sirius told him, grateful once more that Arthur did not pry. They walked to the living room. The floo only had one connection from here, the Burrow. "Oh and I was going to ask if you had any extra cookbooks I could borrow. I could never prepare something like Molly, but I should learn to whip up something other than pasta and eggs."

"No problem." Arthur scooped up a handful of green floo powder and paused. "You're sure you're okay? This is a big step…I know he means a lot to you." He gestured to the wall. Behind it, Harry was still sleeping soundly.

"Yeah, I'm…" The words stuck in his throat. "I'm just…I can't get rid of this feeling in my stomach."

"Feeling?" For some reason, Arthur was starting to look amused. The corner of his mouth twitched.

Irritated, Sirius snipped, "Yeah. A feeling. Been there all day."

"What kind of feeling?"

"Bloody terror," Sirius said bluntly. "All damn day. Why can't I turn it off?"

"You'll get used to it," Arthur chuckled in reply.

Sirius blinked in confusion. Then in dawning horror.

"You mean… it never goes away?"

" _Never_ ," Arthur said solemnly.

"That's….just bloody marvelous, then," Sirius groaned.

Arthur snorted. "Yes it is." He threw the powder in the fireplace and bright, spring green flames roared up. "But Harry is worth it. Good night, Sirius. The Burrow!"

"Good night," Sirius grumbled. Then, nearly dropping to his knees from weariness, he stumbled to his bedroom.

* * *

 **A/N: Since Remus' part was so heavy on the angst, I had to give Sirius and Harry some bonding time :)**

 **Hope you enjoyed this one (I know it was dialogue heavy...sorry if you were hoping for some action). See you next time! (Review please? ;) Especially if you noticed grammar or spelling errors. Once again, I was tired of looking at it over and over again, so I just decided to post).**

 **-Cat**


	7. Guilt, Innocence

**I am alive! Again, I cannot thank you enough for your support and sticking with me so far :). I really want to respond to your reviews, but just didn't get the time, so just know that you all made me laugh, gave me inspiration, and as well as eliminated writer's block. So thanks.**

 **-Cat**

* * *

Chapter 7

Guilt/Innocence

 _December 12, 1981_

Remus returned to consciousness slowly, every nerve ending worn raw. His eyelids were gritty and his muscles felt like lead. The December moon was always the longest night of the year, but the wolf died a swift death with the first light. A hazy memory filled his thoughts, of finally being released, falling to his hands and knees on an icy cellar floor. Then it blurred and deformed. Hot tea, blood-soaked bandages, crackling fire. And a strange sense that someone else had been there. A hulking shadow, malformed and gruff.

Remus' senses sharpened closer to wakefulness. A strange and musty smell lingered in his nose, tobacco smoke, mildew, smokey winter and wood-stove. It was warm. He was covered in something itchy, a woolen blanket, hand-knit. He peeled open his sandpaper eyes and tried to focus on something in the dim room. A soup of dull colors met him, blobs of dark browns and russet, flooded over with light coming from the window. The light had that fragile, brittle quality to it that told Remus that it had snowed during the night.

Then he realized that he did not recognize this room. He shot upright and instantly regretted it. Pain popped into his brain like fireworks and he slumped back down with a gasp, his brain cataloguing. Definitely some mending ribs, the aftertaste of skele-gro acidic in his mouth. And his left calf _throbbed_. His vision blurred out the foreign room for several seconds. When he was finally able to see again, the hulking shadow of a person had appeared.

"Good morning," grunted the person. Remus grudgingly identified him as Alastor Moody.

"Morning," he rasped. His throat crackled with thirsty needles. A glass of water appeared in front of him and he took it and drank greedily. Once he finished he breathed out, "I thought I said to leave me at my place."

"Too cold there," Moody replied. He took the empty glass and placed on an end table that he dragged closer to Remus. "Aguamenti." The glass refilled itself, bright and crystalline in the snowy light. "At least my place is better-heated."

Remus hummed and looked around with renewed curiosity. How many people had actually been invited into the paranoid auror's house? It was austere. There were shelves of books on dark magic. Remus noted with interest that a few of the books seemed to be locked into place with heavy chains. Next to a cold fireplace in the corner, A coat rack held Moody's customary trench coat. On the far wall was a mirror, filled with shadowy figures. A foe-glass, Remus guessed. Piles of paper and files were stacked on available surfaces. The only decoration was a portrait of an elderly wizard over the mantle.

Moody noticed Remus looking and said shortly, "My father. Also an auror." He collected the empty glass and replaced it with a plate of toast. "Eat that slowly."

"Thanks," Remus said quietly. He was starting to feel a little awkward, unused to being cared for after the moon by anyone other than Poppy Pomfrey, the Marauders, or stoic mediwizards. He nibbled half-heartedly on the crust of the toast. Moody stayed where he was, his blue eye spinning, his human one unnervingly watchful.

Remus cast about for a conversation topic to ease the disconcerting silence. "You find who tortured Frank and Alice yet?" he half-asked, half-groused. Nothing had been reported in the papers.

Mad-Eye looked delighted that he had brought the topic up by himself. "We have someone rather unexpected in custody."

"Who?"

"Barty Crouch's son."

Remus choked on his dry toast. "Crouch's son? Barty Crouch, the man who had me dragged into the Ministry holding cells just because I knew Sirius Black?"

"One and the same," Mad-Eye grunted. "Strange. Young kid, thin. Doesn't look like he had it in him. The three Lestranges were also involved, as I suspected."

"You'll be rounding them up, then," Remus stated numbly, feeling sick. He imagined Bellatrix's inhuman cackle as she tortured the Longbottoms. An echo of her cousin's laughter as they dragged him from the blood-stained crater in the street. She would be joining him in Azkaban soon.

"They won't find many places to hide," Mad-Eye said. "The Ministries across the globe have been notified."

"Good. Could you…" Remus trailed away sheepishly. Mad-Eye raised a scarred eyebrow, so he continued. "Could you let me know when it's over?"

"Interested now, eh?"

"I still don't want to be involved."

"Sure."

Remus took another small nibble of toast. It tasted like dust in his mouth. But he forced it down his throat with a gulp of water.

"How was Crouch implicated in what happened?"

"Testimony of Igor Karkaroff. Caught him myself, but the Ministry offered a deal to the bastard. His freedom for the names of unknown Death Eaters." Moody's expression was dour. He clearly did not agree with setting Karkaroff free. "Most of his information was rubbish. You'll probably read a grossly exaggerated version of events in the paper tomorrow. Bloody Skeeter woman. But he did give two names that we did not know. Crouch and Augustus Rookwood."

"Rookwood?"

"He's an Unspeakable. Easy arrest. The Department of Mysteries is just down the hall from the courtroom. Was passing high-level Ministry secrets to You-Know-Who. He's in Ministry custody now, pending transfer to Azkaban."

"He'll get a hearing though, right?"

"Since when do you care about the judicial system works?"

"Since I was wrongly detained for eight hours even after answering every damn question thrown at me," Remus snapped. Moody had the grace to look ashamed.

"Not an official one," he muttered. "Brief questioning, which I'm planning to handle myself. Paper confession to sign with a few witnesses, then carting his ass off to Azkaban."

"Did Sirius get a hearing?"

The words were out of Remus' mouth before he could stop them. Both of Mad-Eye's eyes bored into him. His jaw clenched in the pale light before he shook his head. "No."

"Oh…"

Remus exhaled slowly and placed his half-nibbled toast down on the plate with a soft chink. It sat sadly, a misshapen lump of what it used to be. He felt as if something had been… ripped away. His assurance that Sirius was judged guilty. Did he even care?

 _No,_ he thought to himself defiantly. _And yes…_ whispered a voice buried deep with his other self. The self that used to believe in greater things.

"There was solid evidence," Moody said suddenly. He was standing now, and gazing out the window. "The entire system was in shock. He was the first Death Eater caught, and the public was in an uproar. When the aurors arrived on the scene, Black was laughing fit to burst. He didn't resist. They snapped his wand, brought him to the Ministry holding cells. Within an hour he was on his way to Azkaban, rights or no rights. There are no excuses, but that was the way it was done."

"Fuck," Remus whispered, too soft for any normal person to hear, but Mad-Eye glanced at him. Remus lifted a trembling hand and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"You okay?"

"Don't know." Short, staccato syllables.

"Does the knowledge change anything?"

It did not change what he did. Remus was transported again, back to that cliff overlooking a stormy sea. The tower of Azkaban somewhere in the darkness, resolute and unfeeling. Sirius was inside. " _You're much more than this,"_ screeched the wind. _Than this husk of humanity, than this bloodthirsty monster, than the lies he told you._ Did knowing he was convicted without a trial matter?

 _No,_ said the angry voice again. His aching fist curled tightly where it rested on his brow bone, knuckle digging against skull. But still that traitorous whisper echoed, _You're much more than this._

"Can we talk about something else?" he asked quietly instead of answering. Mad-Eye gave him a searching look, and then nodded. He stumped over to a wingback chair and lowered himself down, stretching the clawed foot in front of him.

"Dumbledore tells me that your were his spy amongst the werewolves before You-Know-Who fell."

"Does he now?" Remus groaned, lowering his hand to the scratchy blanket. This was not much better than the previous conversation.

"Yes, he does. Explains where you constantly disappearing. How long were you doing that?"

"About a year," Remus answered wearily. "Voldemort was recruiting from the people who felt like outcasts from society and the werewolves were a prime target. He promised them… he promised _us_ things we could only dream of. Freedom. Respect in the eyes of wizardkind. Equality. All lies of course, but… beautiful ones. Greyback was the first to join the Death Eaters. I suspect it was more out of bloodlust than actually believing Voldemort would deliver, but he was followed by an alarming number of others, so Dumbledore asked if I would try and convince other packs to at least stay out of the conflict. At first it was just visits, short spans of contact. But I realized that to gain trust among the packs I would need to stay longer."

"There were many who thought you were the spy."

"It couldn't be helped," Remus murmured. He could tell from Mad-Eye's inflection that the auror himself was included in that group.

"Did you ever have contact with Fenrir Greyback during that time?"

"Once, during the summer," Remus replied, purposefully vague. "Where are you going with this?"

"Death Eaters without leadership should not be torturing people until their minds break." Remus swallowed and even Mad-Eye's tough exterior wavered as he spoke. "Something's going on, and I don't like it. Greyback is involved. He was at the meeting I interrupted, the night I killed Rosier."

"If you're thinking I could just march into a werewolf habitation and ask Greyback what he's been up to lately-"

"Don't be dense. Shut up for a moment and let me tell you what I'm thinking."

Remus huffed, but gestured for Mad-Eye to continue. Mad-Eye glared at him until he was certain than he wasn't going to interrupt again. Remus just barely resisted rolling his eyes.

"I think there's someone pulling the strings, trying to bring the Dark Lord back and using his followers to do it. Greyback, Rosier, Crouch, even Rookwood aren't prone to initiative, so someone else must be in charge. It's possible that our puppetmaster is one of the Lestranges. Hell, Bellatrix worshipped You-Know-Who like he was some kind of deity."

Mad-Eye's pause indicated that Remus was allowed to comment.

"Bellatrix is psychotic, sure, but I would not peg her as being overly forward-thinking," Remus mused. "Rabastan though, he's analytical and ruthless. Not the most charismatic however…"

"Like I said, it _could_ be a Lestrange. Could be one of the original Death Eaters who haven't been caught yet. Mulciber or Avery. Or it could be someone unaccounted for. Too many remain anonymous. If Karkaroff had not testified, Crouch and Rookwood would never have been suspected. And Rookwood being an Unspeakable," Mad-Eye growled. "The thought of a servant of You-Know-Who that close to some of the greatest mysteries and secrets of magic gives me goosebumps."

Remus shuddered. But he reigned in his unease. _Be rational,_ he censured himself. Dumbledore's ominous voice rose again, " _We are dogged by shadows."_ Remus glanced at the foe glass. Was it his imagination, or were the figures getting sharper? He shook his head to clear it. What if… what if they were just inventing the shadows? Was this just some way to escape his new reality? And here he was, letting the most famously paranoid wizard in the world feed him conspiracy theories. He swallowed. "Are you sure we aren't just jumping to conclusions?"

"Have you been listening to a goddamn word I've said, Lupin?" Moody demanded, outrage coloring the unscarred tatters of his face. "Something is not right and the Ministry's too narrow-minded to notice-"

At that moment, a high-pitched wailing filled the living room. Remus startled and Mad-Eye shot to his feet.

"What is _that_?!" Remus shouted over the din.

Mad-Eye waved a hand and the noise ceased abruptly, leaving Remus' ears ringing. "Proximity alarms," he muttered, shoulders tense.

Remus felt his adrenaline pick up. He pushed himself into a sitting position, gritting his teeth as the movement pulled on sore ribs.

"You expecting visitors?"

"Nope."

Remus' wand was laying on the end table, so he snatched it up and swung his bare feet to the floor. He could feel the blood pumping into his limbs, ready for a fight. The bandage on his calf felt wet, but he stored the information away as trivial for now. Much more importantly, he was at least wearing boxers, so he hauled his aching body to its feet and let the blanket puddle on the floor. His left leg nearly gave, so he shifted his weight to the right and took a limping step forward.

Moody was already exiting the room into a dark entry foyer, cane thumping heavily. Remus caught a flash of blue eye spinning, scanning the perimeter with x-ray vision, then he disappeared. The thumping stopped, followed by a pregnant pause. Remus strained his ears. Various creaks and rumblings of an settling house sharpened. The stove in the kitchen snapped. The clock on the mantle ticked rhythmic seconds. Outside was the utter silence of snow.

 _Tick, tick, tick-_

Then Remus could here the tell-tale flapping of wings. A letter flap squeaked on rusty hinges, followed by the slap of an envelope on the doormat. The owl announced the letter with a noisy hoot, then flew away. Remus watched its shadow flit across the window, then hissed, "Damn it, Moody. Caterwauling charms for a _bloody bird_?!"

He stumbled back and collapsed onto the sofa, tossing his wand onto the end table in irritation. Mad-Eye thumped back into view, letter in hand and his expression irked.

"They don't go off for owls, Lupin," he growled. "And yer bleeding again."

"I know," Remus retorted grumpily. He frowned down at the growing stain on the bandage. "And if they don't go off for owls, then what the hell are they for?"

"Trespassers."

"And did you see one?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe?" Remus repeated. He bent down and started loosening the bandage on his leg.

"Maybe," Mad-Eye said firmly. "Let me get that."

"What does 'maybe' mean?"

Remus finished loosening the bandage, which vanished with a wave of Mad-Eye's wand. The wound beneath was swollen and red, leaking from jagged puncture wounds. He ran his tongue subconsciously over his teeth, feeling the blunt edges.

"It means that I live in London, a city full of all kinds of people. The charm is meant to detect uninvited persons of magical ability, but sometimes they just accidentally walk by. Besides, as you pointed out earlier, I am the most paranoid man to ever walk the earth. _Ferula._ "

Fresh bandages wrapped around the leg tightly, hiding the wound from view.

"I didn't say _that._ I said we shouldn't jump to conclusions," Remus sighed. He pulled the blanket up from the floor and wrapped himself in it. "So it could be some unsuspecting bloke out on a walk?"

"Could be," Mad-Eye said, annoyingly non-committal. His blue eye rolled around completely in his head, the iris facing the foe-glass. The figures were still indistinct shadows.

"But you don't think so," Remus stated.

"No, I don't."

Remus sighed again, heavier this time. "What's in the letter?" he asked wearily.

Mad-Eye scanned it through the envelope with his magical eye, then ripped it open and read it with his real one. There was no change in expression, save for a tightening of his jaw.

"Ministry memo. I'm needed at a crime scene." He seemed like he was about to say more, but changed his mind, covering it with a quick breath. "You'll show yerself out?"

"Er, yeah. Where are my clothes?"

"Behind you."

Remus twisted to look, but his ribs protested, so he decided to take Mad-Eye's word for it. When he turned back, Mad-Eye was already donning his trench coat and pulling a bowler hat low over his eyes.

"I took the box of Black's things from your place. If you want anything else out of it, now's your last chance. It's on the kitchen table."

The contents Remus took swam before his eyes. The photos of them all, joyful, together. The text book, _Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six._ There was a secret compartment inside, one that Remus had yet to look in, afraid the memories would be far too painful. They weren't supposed to painful, but how could school-age boys ever predict this kind of loss? And the letters… _Dear Moony, I hope you-_

"I don't."

"Fine."

"Hold on, what about the proximity alert?"

"Whoever set it off is probably long gone," Mad-Eye grunted. He made no move to leave, however, both eyes fixed on Remus. Remus waited for him to say something, but no words were forthcoming. So he filled the hesitation with his own question.

"The crime scene… do you think it was the Lestranges?"

"No, it wasn't them," Mad-Eye responded immediately. The pupil in the blue eye contracted with focus.

"How are you sure?"

"I'm sure. I'll contact you soon."

Again, Remus could sense that there was more, but the older wizard blew out another frustrated breath and muttered, "Watch yourself this week, Lupin." Then he was gone with a blast of cold winter air.

* * *

 _March 30, 1986_

" _Nice one, James!"_

" _Lily and James, Sirius, how could you?!"_

" _You said you would never leave."_

 _Remus._

 _He was fading, fading, fading into the cold. The iciness of his breath was disintegrating his brittle lungs, decaying into sand-he couldn't breathe._

 _Remus watched, still as stone._

 _And then Remus was Harry, too small, too young, bright blood running in ribbons from the lightning-bolt scar above his eyes. He was so still, his little chest rattling with the cold, cold air._

 _Behind him loomed a shadow. Sirius' feet would not move from where they were frozen._

" _Harry! Run!"_

 _Crimson eyes glowed in a bone-white face-_

" _I'm still here."_

 _The voice was colder than death-_

Sirius woke with a harsh gasp for air. Voldemort's face was jarring, burned into his mind's eye as he fought to catch his breath. The casualties of memory swirled like dead leaves.

He levered himself out of bed, willing his heart to slow. The shock of cold hardwood on his bare feet helped some. But he could not rid himself of the distinct feeling that something was still wrong.

Throwing on an old t-shirt, he padded silently into the hallway and paused outside of Harry's room.

The door was cracked just enough that Sirius could hear his godson's irregular breathing. Alarmed, he pushed the door wider and saw that Harry was sitting up in bed, hair tousled and hands scrubbing viciously at his face.

"Harry?"

Harry hiccuped with surprise and stared at Sirius, moist eyes catching the magical starlight from the ceiling.

"S-Sirius?"

"Yeah," he said in a soothing voice. He crossed the room in two long strides and sat on the bed. "Did you have a nightmare?"

Harry's lower lip was trembling.

"I-I d-didn't mean to w-wake you," he whispered tremulously. "I'm s-sorry."

"Shh, you didn't wake me," Sirius murmured. "I was already awake. I was just checking on you."

"I'm sorry," Harry said again, his voice hoarse. Tears were leaking from his lashes again, and he wiped them away quickly.

"No need to be sorry. Come here."

Sirius held out his arms. Harry's mouth dropped open and he hesitated for only a few seconds. Then he crawled out from his covers and tucked himself against Sirius chest. Sirius could tell from his shallow breaths that he was still trying to stop the tears.

"It's okay to cry, you know," Sirius said. His throat was tight and painful. "Sometimes you just have to let it out."

Harry let out a small whimper, then he was crying in earnest. Sirius could only tell from his hitching lungs and the wet spot growing on his t-shirt. Otherwise, the five-year-old was a very silent crier. Sirius swallowed, trying to get rid of the hard mass in his throat.

" _You could take your own advice, Padfoot,"_ James suggested gently in his head. But Sirius knew that he wouldn't. He held Harry tighter and instead forced himself to talk.

"One time," he rasped. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "One time, when your dad and I were at school, we got in huge trouble with our professor. We had been goofing off in her class, making the toads we were supposed to be turning into tea cozies race across the desks." He paused again, feeling his chest lighten as he got swept away in the story. "Well, she was not amused since that was the millionth time that year, so she gave us each detention that night. James had quidditch practice though-quidditch is a wizard game you play flying on broomsticks. I'll teach you to play sometime. Maybe you'll be even better than James. Anyway, your dad had quidditch practice and there was no way he was going to miss it. Minnie-that's the professor-Minnie was so mad she didn't care. And she's really competitive when it comes to quidditch. So we made a plan, because we were pretty much geniuses.

"We had our friends Remus and…" he hesitated just slightly. "And Peter. We had them create this giant distraction outside her classroom while we were doing lines. Remus took a little more convincing, because sometimes he can be a stickler for the rules. But he's a master at tricky spellwork, so we needed him. Still don't know how he did it, but he managed to turn the entire entry hall into a winter wonderland. Then he and Peter convinced a ton of people to have a snow-ball battle in the middle of the entryway! It was _hysterical_! By the time Minnie got there, everyone was placing bets and no one could tell her who started it because it was so crazy out of control. It took at least an hour to melt all the snow and dry off the entry hall. By that time Minnie had forgotten all about us. By the time she remembered, James' quidditch practice was over and we were right back in the classroom dutifully doing lines. She couldn't even blame us because, technically, we had been in detention the whole time!"

Harry giggled against his chest, and Sirius was suddenly back in the little bedroom, James' son on his lap.

"Did she ever catch Remus and Peter?" He looked up at Sirius. The tears were drying on his cheeks.

"Nope." He popped the 'p'. "Like I said, no one really knew who started it. I think she suspected, since the four of us caused a lot of trouble, but she couldn't prove anything."

Harry giggled again, but it died off and he leaned against Sirius chest. "Do you…" he paused. "Nevermind."

"Do I what?" Sirius asked.

"Well," Harry started slowly. "Sometimes… Sometimes I get this hurt in my chest. And I just… I think that the hurt would go away if my mum and dad were here. Does that happen to you?"

 _Oh Merlin, yes._ The innocent question inflamed the hurt so much it was nearly blinding. Dementor-shaped demons clawed at him, spoiling the innocent recollection of Hogwarts and friends. He took slow, even breaths through his nose, trying to unlock his jaw.

"Yeah," he replied, barely above a whisper. He needed to say something more, but the vault of Sirius Black was filled with rattling breath and frost. _Help me, James. I can't…_ Harry shifted against him. His mouth was bone dry as he tried to speak. "It's… it's okay to feel like that. It means you love your mum and dad very much. And they love you very much."

"They did?"

"They still do, wherever they are now."

Harry was lapsed into pensive silence.

"Do you want to talk about your nightmare?" Sirius made himself ask over the buzzing in his ears.

"It's getting less scary now," Harry replied timidly. "I'll be okay."

"Still, it can help to talk about it," Sirius pointed out.

Harry's fingers were fiddling nervously with the edge of his blue pajama shirt. "I've had it before," he started slowly. "There's a motorbike in it, which is cool I guess. But… but I can always hear someone screaming. She sounds really scared and… then there's just a ton of green light and I wake up."

Harry did not notice how every muscle in Sirius' body turned to marble.

 _He let his motorbike fall to the side when he landed. The air smelled of sulphur and acrid smoke stung his nostrils. The door to the house in Godric's Hollow was knocked off its hinges. He stumbled to a halt. The entire second floor was blown away, dust choking the stars, energy charging the chilly atmosphere._

 _The agony was enough to freeze time and space._

 _Distantly, a baby was crying. His feet were moving again…_

"I think…" Harry continued, his voice now very small. "I think it's about when my parents died. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia said my parents died in a car crash and I was in the car, so I could remember parts of it. But… I don't know. It doesn't make sense because my parents were magic, right? So… so if they were magic, why would they die?"

 _James was dead. Perhaps Lily too. He knew it before he even crossed the threshold. But hope clung like barbs in his blood-_

"They didn't die in a car crash," Sirius croaked. He never expected this. Sure, he knew he would need to have a conversation with Harry about the events on Halloween night. But to realize that Harry knew absolutely nothing? _Merlin, how do you explain?_ "There was… a very bad wizard who wanted to take over the world. But your parents… your parents fought against him. So he came after them. You're mum and dad were very brave that night. They died so that you could live."

"For me?" Harry's eyes were wide with wonder.

Sirius couldn't speak anymore, so he just nodded. Harry was quiet for a long time, long enough that Sirius began to wonder if he had fallen asleep. But then he shifted.

"I liked that story about you and my dad," he said. "Do you have any more?"

"Yeah," Sirius whispered. "How about you get back under the covers and I'll tell you about the time your own mum gave him a detention."

"She did?" Harry mumbled sleepily as he clambered beneath the quilt. Sirius pulled it up to his chin.

"She did indeed," he replied. "She was a prefect, which meant that she patrolled the school at night when the rest of the students were supposed to be sleeping. But your dad and I had a habit of being out past curfew. This particular time, we were trying to sneak into the nearby town to get some chocolate for a friend of ours who was recovering from being sick…"

It did not take long for Harry's breathing to even out. Sirius' voice trailed away into the gloom. He was tired. He could feel it in the heaviness of his eyelids and the fuzzy pain in his head. Bright memories tangled with darker, decaying fingers of Azkaban.

And the adventure into Hogsmeade for chocolate had recalled the soft-spoken, whip-sharp companion who trusted slowly but cared deeply. Who might not be as lost as the traitor and the dead.

Easing himself off the mattress, he tiptoed out of Harry's bedroom and into the kitchen.

Remus' file was still in the drawer he had placed it a few nights ago. As quietly as he could, he removed it and carried it to the kitchen table. According to the clock on the wall, it was 4:27 a.m. Harry would probably sleep until seven or eight, so he prepared himself a fully caffeinated cup of coffee and settled down with a pencil and parchment for taking notes. He would not sleep anymore tonight.

* * *

At some point, he heard Harry rise from his room and roused himself from his study. He rubbed his eyes. A glance out the window showed a pale sky streaked with scudding pink clouds. Yawning, he went to the cold cabinet and pulled out the egg carton. He set about making fried eggs and toast (something he got pretty good at after graduation), and poured Harry a glass of orange juice.

Harry entered the kitchen moments later, wearing Charlie Weasley's old snitch-patterned pajama bottoms and frowning at him silently.

"What?" Sirius asked.

"I was going to try and make breakfast to surprise you," he pouted.

Sirius barked out a laugh.

"How about we make it together, mate?"

"Okay!"

They made a huge mess of the kitchen, but breakfast was excellent. Sirius managed to fry up some sausages without burning them and, as it turned out, Harry was much better at flipping eggs than he was.

They cleared off the table, and Harry watched curiously as he quickly put the file back together and stuffed it into its customary drawer (he really should find a better place to keep such precious information). His eyebrows knit, but he did not ask. Sirius was glad. He did not want to have more than one emotionally painful conversation with him today. It was much easier to just enjoy breakfast in companionable quiet, the dawn streaming through the window.

As they finished eating, a knock at the door startled them both. He told Harry to stay put, fingering his wand. Then he went to the door and looked out the peephole. Surprise soared in his chest.

Quickly, he slid the latch aside and threw open the door.

"Be still my old heart!" he said, grinning. "What have I done to merit a visit from the two loveliest of the Hogwarts faculty members?" His old rackish energy was harder to rouse, but he was excited to see Poppy Pomfrey and Minerva McGonagall gracing his doorstep. The pair of witches looked shocked, both by his cheery greeting and his appearance.

"Hopefully we're not too unexpected," Minerva finally said, regaining her voice first. "Surely the Headmaster told you we were coming this morning?"

"Of course, of course, is it Sunday already?" Sirius asked airily, wracking his brain for Dumbledore's reminder.

"Yes, Sirius, it is Sunday. Easter Sunday"

"Oh…" That put a new twist on his and Harry's talk about why his parents died. He summoned what he hoped was a wry expression. "It probably won't shock you that my parents weren't all that religious. Unless you count the dark arts as a religion. I wasn't really paying attention to the calendar."

"I didn't think so." Behind her rectangular glasses, Minerva's eyes were crinkled with genuine happiness to see him. She was dressed in an mossy green robe and wore her customary black hat fletched with pheasant feathers. Under one arm was a stack of books. Madame Pomfrey was also donning the matron's uniform that he always remembered her in. Her hair had a few more gray streaks and her face a few more worry lines, but they were shallow. After a moment, Sirius realized he was staring. He quickly stepped out of the way.

"Come on in, then."

The two witches crossed over the threshold, taking in his new home. Sirius was suddenly conscious of how uncomfortably warm it was inside. He silently lessened the intensity of his heating charms.

"Tea?" he offered.

"Yes, please," said Madame Pomfrey.

"You cut your hair," Minerva pointed out.

"Miss it?" Sirius asked in a teasing tone.

"Do you?" she retorted. "You always seemed rather… attached to it."

He ran his hand through his hair again. "A bit," he admitted. "It'll grow back."

When they entered the kitchen, Harry was concentrating on moving the dishes from the table to the counter by the sink. Sirius did not know whether to be upset with the Dursleys or pleased that he was so responsible.

"I got it, Harry," he said, pulling out his wand.

"Thanks," Harry replied. He eyed the newcomers shyly. "I keep forgetting… who are they?"

With a wave of his wand, Sirius set the dishes to cleaning themselves, then turned to Madame Pomfrey and Minerva. Madame Pomfrey's eyes were red-rimmed and even Minerva's looked a little moist. Sirius grinned.

"Harry, this here is Professor Minnie McGonagall," he said with a wink.

"Black-" Minerva started in a warning tone, but Harry cut over her.

"You're Minnie?" he asked excitedly.

Minerva blinked.

"Sirius told me about they time that he was racing frogs and then got in trouble and then there was a huge snowball fight and he and my dad snuck out to play quid… uh, quid-something!"

"Quidditch," Sirius corrected him genially. He set the kettle on the stove and gestured to the breakfast nook for them to sit.

"I thought the snow-fiasco was suspiciously well-timed." Minerva's lips were thin, but there was a twinkle behind her rectangular spectacles.

"Yeah, well," Sirius shrugged, deciding it was a good time to change the subject. "And this is Madame Pomfrey, Harry. She's here to er…" he trailed away, still not quite remembering why they were here.

"Oh goodness gracious, Black," Minerva burst out with a fond frustration. "Poppy?"

"I'm here to give you a little check-up," Madame Pomfrey supplied. Suddenly, Sirius recalled Dumbledore mentioning it off-handedly the day he and Flitwick were erecting the wards around the cottage.

"Right," he piped brightly.

"Check-up?" Harry repeated nervously.

"Not like the muggle doctors, dear," Madame Pomfrey said kindly. "I'm a healer. We don't use needles or cold instruments, I promise. Just a diagnostic spell and a few simple questions so we can start a record of your health for Sirius."

"Oh you use magic, then?"

"I do indeed," Madame Pomfrey said with a smile. "Is that okay with you?"

Harry's bright green eyes flicked to Sirius uncertainly.

"Trust me, Prongslet, this woman has been taking care of me for fifteen years." Sirius shot Pomfrey a grateful look. "She knows what she's doing."

"Okay, then."

"Very good, dear," Madame Pomfrey said. "Sirius will be here the whole time too, so there's no need to fret. I'm going to start with a very simple charm. You might feel a little tickling feeling on your tummy."

As Madame Pomfrey went through her checklist, Harry started to slowly warm up to her. He gasped when a diagnostic aura appeared around him and tried to touch the different colored bursts with his hands. When he started asking questions at the speed of light, Sirius knew he was definitely finding a comfort zone. Madame Pomfrey answered every question with the patience of a saint.

"He looks so much like James," Minerva murmured softly beside him.

"He does," Sirius breathed out. "But he has a lot of Lily in him."

"I was there the day Dumbledore left him with his relatives, you know," she said. Sirius dragged his eyes away from Harry to her. There were hard lines around her mouth. "It was not a happy home for him, was it?"

Her expression told Sirius that she already knew the answer, but he shook his head anyway.

"How bad?"

"They kept him in a cupboard under the stairs," he bit out. He felt the rage rise familiar in his chest.

The skin around Minerva's nostrils went white. Still composed, she hissed, "I warned him."

"Trust me, I plan on having a long talk with him when I get the chance," Sirius muttered. He knew that Dumbledore had reasons to keep Harry there, that the blood protection was powerful, powerful magic. But every day spent deducing more and more from Harry's little actions and comments, Sirius' beast of anger grew stronger. There was only so much he could justify.

Steadying his breathing, he focused once more on Harry and Pomfrey. She seemed to be finishing up, letting him look through her bag and asking a few questions. Sirius listened, inhaling and exhaling through his nose.

"Any tummy pains recently, Harry?"

"No. What's this for?"

"That's a special potion called Pepper-Up. It's for when you get the flu. Do you remember the last time you went to the doctor?"

"Yeah," Harry scrunched his nose. "I had to get shots."

"Had you been before?"

"No, that was my first time. I sprained my wrist and it got all puffy, so the school nurse said Aunt Petunia had to take me."

"Your first time to the doctor?" Madame Pomfrey asked, eyebrows knitting. "You hadn't gone before?"

"Aunt Petunia said I didn't need to. But she had to make another appointment for me anyway while we were there. The doctor said so."

"What was he like?"

"He was nice. I don't think he liked Aunt Petunia, though."

"Is your wrist better now?"

"All better. That was a long time ago. What's this?"

"That's a hiccuping solution to cure the hiccups."

"Wow! I usually have to wait for them to go away."

"What happened to your wrist Harry?"

Sirius felt his concentration narrow onto Harry's face, hackles rising. An unbidden image of Vernon bellowing angrily rose and he tasted bile. But, Harry shrugged nonchalantly and replied, "I fell over and landed funny."

"You tripped?"

"I lost my balance."

"Okay. You can tell the truth, you know Harry."

"That's the truth." And it seemed like Harry was being sincere when he responded. Sirius tried to relax as Madame Pomfrey turned back to him.

"Well, Sirius, the child seems to be in relatively good health. He is very small for his age and definitely on the skinny side, but I'm not too concerned, especially with Molly Weasley nearby." She winked. "The only thing I want you to watch is his vision. Since he just started schooling, it's something that could come up, especially with his father's dreadful eyesight. If he complains about headaches or inability to see things he should, let me know and I'll put you in touch with a few optical wizards."

"Thanks Poppy," Sirius replied. "You are a blessing."

"Always a pleasure to look after young people," she said with a smile, her cheeks going rosy. "Now I'd better scurry off. I have a pair of students who stayed for Easter break that got into a scuffle this morning."

She rummaged through her bag, which Harry had surrendered to her, and opened a small compartment on the side that he'd missed. Out of it came a plastic-wrapped sweet, which she presented to Harry. "For being such a cooperative patient. Unlike your godfather."

Harry giggled and glanced at Sirius. "Thank you Madame Pomfrey. Can I eat it now?"

"Sure," Sirius said with a wave of his hand. Harry made quick work of the wrapping and popped it into his mouth. Then he politely walked with Sirius and Madame Pomfrey to the door and waved goodbye.

Harry wanted to play in the living room, so Sirius invited Minerva to sit with their tea and visit. Minerva accepted graciously and followed them to the comfortable arrangement of chairs and sofa around the coffee table. Sirius summoned paper and crayons for Harry, then lounged back in his armchair. The action was familiar, though not as casual as it used to be. Before Azkaban.

Minerva placed her tea carefully onto a coaster, then set the stack of books she had arrived with beside her mug. Then she settled on the sofa, looking very proper even in the leisurely atmosphere.

"What are those?" Sirius asked hesitantly, eyeing the books with some apprehension.

"School books," she replied, blunt and to the point.

"Er...why?"

"For Harry, Black, not for you," she said, amused.

"Right." Sirius looked at the top one, a workbook for learning letters. A faint sense of unease was beginning to build in his stomach, and he looked helplessly at his old professor.

"Oh for Heaven's sake, Sirius, the boy is at schooling age," she said. "How on earth do you expect him to learn?"

"My parents had tutors," he said weakly. A phantom pain of a switch burned across his knuckles.

Minerva sighed. "Most wizarding families can't afford tutors, Sirius, though that is definitely an option. Many mothers or fathers homeschool their children. You could enroll him in a muggle school come next year, but at this point, it may be better for him to finish this year's education at home."

"Oh," Sirius said intelligently.

"These are primary level books, Sirius, not university maths."

Sirius swallowed and flipped open the letter book. It was filled with brightly colored illustrations, lines for writing practice, and little instructions for the teacher and student. Beneath this book was a reader with spelling practice and a book filled with numbers and shapes. The permanent knot of fear in his gut twisted. What if he taught him wrong? What if he wasn't patient enough? What if he failed Harry in this most basic task?

Arthur had to be lying. He would never get used to the fear choking him.

"Moony would be better suited for this," he whispered.

Minerva shifted, recognizing the nickname.

"For teaching, maybe," she said softly. Her gaze became distant for a moment, before returning to focus on Sirius. "But I think you'll find that you are capable of more than you think." Her eyes strayed to Harry. His tongue was between his teeth as he concentrated on his crayon drawing. His floppy hair was falling into his eyes, and the sunlight filtering through the window brought out warm color in the ebony blackness. "That is a safe, happy child right there. James and Lily knew what they were doing when they chose you as his godfather. Have a little faith in yourself, Sirius."

"I try," he grumbled wryly.

She fixed him with a stern, Professor-like glare. Then clasped her hands around her mug of tea and took a thoughtful sip.

"I saw him once, before…"

"You did?" Sirius perked up instantly, dropping the letter book onto the stack. "How was he? Was he doing okay? Mad-Eye was a little light on the personal details…"

"He-" she started. Then exhaled heavily. "It was after New Years. I don't think… I think he may have been homeless at the time."

"How homeless did he look?" Sirius asked hopefully. "Because, well, he dressed neat and all, but the quality of his clothes could be…"

"He didn't look well, Sirius," Minerva said firmly. "The full moon was in a few days, but I know what his pre-moon symptoms are. This was different."

Sirius' heart sank. "Was he… was he okay, though?"

"I don't know what you expect," she sighed. "He was lonely. As far as I know, the only person who had really talked to him after what happened to the Longbottoms was Alastor Moody, because he's a stubborn old codger and didn't care if he was overstepping. But… but perhaps I should have overstepped anyway."

"Remus could be… a little closed-off sometimes." That was the thing with Remus. Nothing could ever be easy with him. He valued control too much, and himself far too little.

"Indeed," she responded dryly. "We did correspond a little through letters after that."

"Did he tell you what he was up to?"

"Not whatever he was into with Alastor. He was… elusive. I don't think he tried to be, but I imagine it is hard to find a purpose after everything has been taken from you."

Sirius wondered what he would do if he did not have Harry. He shuddered, the downward spiral of his thoughts so deep it was dizzying. Oblivious, Harry colored on, unaware that he was the one thing anchoring Sirius to sanity in this disorientating adjustment to an emptier world. The dementors' cold rose in his chest. He shuddered. They sucked away the air, the ground, the tea and the living room…

" _I hate you!"_

Remus' face, twisted with fury. He rubbed his forehead hard with the heel of his hand.

" _Lily and James, Sirius, how could you?!"_

Peter…

"Are you alright, Sirius?"

"Yeah I'm good," said Sirius' mouth. The rest of him caught up seconds later and he fumbled for an excuse for his lapse. "I… I miss him, that's all. I…never wanted this."

"Of course you didn't," huffed Minerva. She sipped her tea. Sirius could see a softness underneath her stern exterior, a knowing. "You haven't said much about how you're coping."

Sirius looked away from his old professor, out to the wide fields that were brightened with daylight. He definitely did not like the word "coping." But there was only so much words could handle.

"I'm not there anymore." He stared at the sunlight, pretending it could anchor his entire being to the present. But the dark expanses of his mind still crackled with frost like a planet too distant to sustain life.

"No. But you haven't fully left, have you?"

Sirius winced and tried to turn it into a casual shrug. But of all his professors in school, Minerva was the only one who learned to see through his care-free, devil-may-care exterior.

"You have time," she said.

"Do I?" he murmured. The average human lifespan seemed too short. And Harry deserved more than his damage.

"Ollivander told me about your new wand's similarity to my own. A survivor's wand. I think it suits you."

"James would have laughed," Sirius said softly.

"Yes, I imagine so."

Harry was still drawing, but his fingers had slowed and his brow was furrowed. He was clearly trying to understand the adults talking over his head without alerting them that they had a listener. Sirius frowned and cast about for a lighter topic.

"How are this year's crop of Gryffindors? As bad as us?"

Minerva accepted the transition, though not without her customary stern once-over.

"No one could ever be as bad as you, Black."

"Perhaps the highest compliment paid to me to date," Sirius grinned, stretching himself backwards languidly. The perfect picture of assurance.

"Young Nymphadora Tonks however gets into her fair share of mischief."

"Nymphie!" Sirius exclaimed. "She was like… seven or something! She's in Hogwarts already?"

"Second year. Quite a spitfire."

"House?"

"Hufflepuff."

Sirius laughed, some light blooming past his fears. "I need to get in touch with Andy. She was always my favorite cousin, but we fell out of touch during the war… so Nymphadora is in second year already?"

"And causing Pomona some grief recently. Tripped in the greenhouse. Sent a whole row of mandrake pots toppling like dominos. Luckily they were only babies, but half the class had removed their mufflers and passed out instantly."

"Oh man, I remember that lesson. James didn't have his earmuffs on all the way."

"As I recall, it was _you_ who didn't have your earmuffs on all the way," Minerva bantered good-naturedly.

"No, I was way too intelligent for that…"

It was nice to listen to the comings and goings of Hogwarts from someone else's point of view. Minerva steered clear of treacherous waters, telling him about Peeves latest crimes and this year's quidditch season (Gryffindor was currently second). Harry stopped coloring altogether, listening with eyes wide as saucers. Eventually, he bashfully began to interject with his own questions. Sirius answered these enthusiastically, with Minerva cutting in with an occasional correction ("Don't give him ideas, Black, he'll make my life hell from the beginning thinking that way.") or dry comment ("Please, like _you_ cared about the House common room boundaries. I seem to recall the Slytherins' bathrooms being slathered with shampoo." "Who's giving him ideas _now_ , Minnie dear?").

Harry drew them further and further from darker subjects for the rest of the morning. When Minerva announced that she really should be returning to Hogwarts, Sirius had almost forgot how close to the surface his demons had come. Especially when Harry gave her a disappointed look and asked, "Will you come and visit again Ms. Minnie?"

He guffawed loudly while Minerva was clearly trying to decide whether she should be affronted or charmed. Finally deciding on the latter, she said, "Perhaps I will, Harry."

As she went out the door, she smiled at Sirius in a way that still made a chill go down his spine. "If he shows up at Hogwarts his first year addressing me as Minnie, there will be consequences."

"Right, of course," Sirius said quickly.

"And Black?"

"Yes?"

"I have a bone to pick with you. Unregistered animagi?"

"Oh yeah about that-"

"This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that month in fifth year when the three of you took a vow of silence?"

"Er…"

"Remus gave a new reason each day. Protesting teachers, imitating the dead, tongue-tying curse, raising awareness for those who could not speak for themselves…" And suddenly, her face softened with realization. "It was for him?"

"We managed it that year," Sirius confessed, a spark of pride near his heart.

"Well it was downright reckless. And stupid and dangerous." But she did not sound like she was scolding him. "And bloody impressive."

"It is, isn't it?" he asked cheekily.

Her lips quirked, but her expression remained thoughtful as she studied him. Then she said quietly, with conviction, "I am very proud of you, Sirius."

The statement punctured his casual attitude, reaching deeper. He blinked hard.

"Thanks," he murmured. "For everything."

"You're welcome." The gleam in her eyes told him she'd understood. "Happy Easter, Sirius."

* * *

Besides an owl arriving with an invitation to the Weasleys the next day, Sirius and Harry's Easter was uneventful. The afternoon was warm enough to go outside with just jumpers. Sirius romped around as a dog, barking every time Harry laughed. God, he could live on just making Harry laugh.

But eventually his hypervigilance and newfound daddy-fear pushed him to go back inside. The outdoors felt too exposed. Too open. Even with the wards and the occasional glimpse of an auror, Sirius could not quell the sustained nerves in his stomach. The feeling like something was lurking just out of sight in the future.

Such as it was, he could not fathom the idea of sleep once Harry was in bed and all the lamps were turned low.

Like an obsession, he turned to Remus' file. He'd finished with the Longbottom file that morning, combing through every detail, every dead end. Rosier's suspicious behavior in Borgin and Burke's, interrogation after interrogation. Names marching across the pages, Avery, Nott, Macnair, Malfoy (all but the first cleared of Death Eater activity). Then on to the testimony of Igor Karkaroff leading to the conviction of the Lestranges and Barty Crouch Jr. The dramatic trial notes. Sirius could imagine Bellatrix once more, her scream in Azkaban echoing the transcript: " _The Dark Lord will rise again, Crouch! Throw us into Azkaban; we will wait! He will rise again and will come for us, he will reward us beyond any of his other supporters! We alone were faithful! We alone tried to find him!_ "

Then the case was closed. Sudden and abrupt. Loose ends like Rookwood and Greyback and evidence of another player in the works were ignored. Sirius weighed the thick Longbottom file in his hands. He stared at the empty faces in the photos once more. Then set it aside.

He wanted to skip to the end, to just see everything at once, but experience taught him to learn every detail in the order it happened. So he looked at the next item below the Longbottoms.

It was a very slim sheath, starting with an incident report. To the front was clipped a picture of a little boy Harry's age, but with honey blond hair and a missing tooth. He grinned cheekily at the camera, all freckles. Sirius got a sinking feeling in his stomach. He recognized this kind of report. The pale, sickly green, the label across the top: _Department of Control and Regulation of Magical Creatures._

Beneath was the date filed: _December 12, 1981._ Then the approximate date of the crime itself: _December 11, 1981._

Victim's name: _Daniel J. Carmichael._

Age: _6 y.o._

Cause of death: _Exsanguination from multiple bite wounds (see detailed mortician's notes in section 3.1.b)_

Type of incident: _Werewolf_ _attack_

* * *

 **A/N: Oooooo lots of information in this chapter! Hope it was interesting (and not too overwhelming). I had to put McGonagall in here, because she is my hero and I wanted to explore her character a little more. Anyway, if you have thoughts, questions, concerns, criticism, or kudos, you know where to go ;)**


	8. Winter, Spring

**It's March already! Also, happy Sunday. Here's a chapter for those people who want one last, sweet dose of procrastination before Monday (like me). Thanks for reading!**

 **-Cat**

* * *

Chapter 8

Winter/Spring

 _December 21, 1981_

"I'm glad you visited."

"You say that like I never do."

Lyall's silence was accusing. Remus bit his lip, wondering when he started believing his own pitiful lies. He rarely visited, and he cast about for something, anything to say to amend for that simple fact. The foyer in which they stood was uncluttered and uninspiring. Two cloaks, one heavy and one medium weight, hung on hooks on the cracked wall. A muddy pair of field boots were discarded in the corner.

The only things that pulled deeper than skin were the multiple canvases depicting the sea awash in soft colors. They leaned against the opposite wall. His mother's work of course. He wondered if there were infinite oceans where she was now. Where James and Lily and Peter were. Peter had always admired his mother's work…

"Remus," Lyall said gently, interrupting Remus' melancholy thoughts. His hand hitched just slightly as it reached for Remus' shoulder, as if Remus were a wild, frightened creature, easy to spook. Outside, the wind was whistling in the dead trees, announcing the cold with an icy voice. "Please stay, just for the night. It's nearly Christmas."

"I'll be fine, da," he said. He saw it then, the question in his father's storm gray eyes. "I have a place," he assured him, thinking of the drafty, freezing flat in Hackney, where there were no powder blue canvases. Where Sirius' secondhand memories were the only possessions he really valued anymore. And hated in the same breath. Absently, his fingers brushed the dry edge of the letter in his pocket. He would not be able to meet this month's rent. And he hadn't made last month's either.

"You shouldn't be alone this time of year."

Lyall did not realize how closely he had just echoed Alastor Moody's words from the November moon. _You should not be alone._ Then, they had crashed over him like saltwater in his wounds. But now they were just another weight, barely consequential. They were even childishly naive. Of course he was alone. It was not an accident of his life, it was the very form of it.

But Remus held back these depressing thoughts, unfit for the ears of the man who had done everything for him. "I'll be back in a few days for Christmas, da. Promise."

"Let me help you with something at least," his father insisted. "Let me send you with food or money…" He trailed away, catching Remus' barely perceptible wince. But Lyall had always been good at reading him.

"Do you need a job?"

Yes, Remus needed a job. He'd been laid off again, already the second time since… since he was no longer needed by the Order of the Phoenix. The owner of the apothecary in Bristol had sniffed out his condition immediately after this month's full moon. The man was too clever, asked too many questions. What was a well-educated young man doing sweeping the floors? Did he have no ambition?

And after the most recent and gruesome turn of events…

"I'll find something," he murmured. "I've set up interviews with two different shops after the holidays. Don't worry about me."

"I can't help myself," Lyall said with a shrug and a small smile. But he grew serious again. "I know you value your own autonomy, Remus, but it's okay to need help every once and awhile."

"Yeah," Remus grunted.

"My old colleague Clausius Evaltas is looking for a field researcher. He's a naturalist, more interested in physical creatures than the spirits and apparitions I study. Even worked with Newt Scamander himself a few times. Please think about it, Remus. He's a fair man."

"I'll think about it," Remus sighed. He did not need to ask what Lyall meant by "fair." Clausius would not fire him immediately. He might even be curious. Remus decided to wait. Maybe the shopkeepers would be understanding. Maybe, maybe…

"Have you seen Harry at all?"

The tentative question was a blade that found a chink in Remus' carefully crafted armor. Any anxiety, any small wound, or looming depression, was suddenly flooded by the thought of Harry. Harry and his innocent trust, the way he made everyone smile even on the worst days, their light in the darkness. "I haven't," he answered, and the truth of it cost him. "I can't…I'm not supposed to see him."

He tried. He would hover near Privet Drive, hoping for a glimpse, just a hint of him. Knowing that it would cut him deeper than the wolf ever could, but praying for it all the same. At least Harry was safe. The muggle neighborhood was untouched by the kinds of shadows that haunted Remus. For now.

 _We are dogged by shadows._

Instinctively, Remus glanced out the window, searching for his. The dull static of apprehension rose again in his mind, ever present. After that morning in Mad-Eye's house… Remus felt the shadows were getting closer. They never figured out if the proximity alert was an accident or something more sinister.

There was some good news, however. Mad-Eye had barged into his flat three days after the moon saying that they had caught Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan Lestrange. They would stand trial tomorrow, along with the younger Barty Crouch.

But Remus still felt the anxious pulling on his gut. How many more were there, clever enough to avoid capture? How long would they remain loyal to their vanquished Dark Lord? Was there a puppet-master besides the Lestranges pulling the strings? And worse of all, was Harry in danger even as they spoke?

These were the questions that tortured him late at night. He had only one thing left to lose, a little boy hidden in the muggle neighborhoods of Surrey.

And something else crackled uncomfortably in Remus' thoughts. Or rather was a constant source of stress.

The crime scene Moody had been called to the morning after the December moon. A werewolf attack, vicious and brutal, had made even the muggle papers. The six-year-old victim had died hours later, his family devastated. Moody reported it to him succinctly, saying that the parents were not involved in either side of the war. The signature of the attack matched that of Fenrir Greyback.

"Don't know what he's up to," Mad-Eye had grunted. "As far as I can tell, he had no motive for coming out of the woodwork and killing that boy. Especially with things the way they are right now."

"Greyback does not need a reason," Remus said harshly.

"Perhaps," Moody had replied. Remus remembered the troubled expression that crossed the scarred face. In the candlelight of Remus' flat, it had made him look as old as a mountain. "I tried to interview the parents, but the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures kept getting in the way. Only managed to talk to the father, Liam Carmichael. He said nothing, but there's more to that story."

"What does he do for a living?"

"He's a wandmaker." There was a hint of surprise in Moody's voice. The profession of wandlore was complex and uncommon. "Apprenticed to Ollivander, apparently. Can't think of what a werewolf would want with a wandmaker in training, but something about my talk with Carmichael makes me suspect that this wasn't random savagery."

"You think this has to do with the mysterious man behind the curtain."

"I do," Mad-Eye said firmly.

"What do you want me to do about it?" Remus had asked wearily.

"You don't _have_ to do anything, Lupin."

And with that, Mad-Eye had left, slamming the door behind him and causing his neighbors to start shouting. Remus was still reluctant to get caught up in the old auror's paranoia, but he found he could not stop thinking about little Danny Carmichael. The thought was so insistent that he even forgot to be miserable for nearly an hour at a time, chewing over Greyback's intentions. What could possibly prompt a hunted supporter of Voldemort to come out of hiding in such a violent fashion?

Another wave of sick worry rolled over Remus, jolting him back to the present. Lyall was examining him with concern.

"I'm sure Harry is fine, Remus," he assured gently. Remus nodded without really agreeing. His intuition was telling him that something was not quite right. But he had no evidence, no connections, just a feeling and a mad auror who would not leave him alone.

" _You always had the best, instincts, Moony,"_ Sirius' voice whispered, like a knife in his chest. Remus swallowed and shoved the voice far away.

"I should go," he muttered quickly. "I, uh, I have somewhere to be. I'm sorry, I'll see you on Christmas Eve."

"Of course, Remus." Lyall must have noticed the change in Remus' demeanor, but he did not comment. "Please, at least take the last of the dinner rolls."

Before Remus could protest, the warm gingham-wrapped rolls were shoved into his hands.

"Thank you," he murmured, clutching his rations for the next few days. He stowed them deep in his cloak.

"Be safe."

"You too. Love you, da."

Then he was in the bitter cold, the meager warmth of the rolls like coals in the low temperature. He hurried to the edge of his father's property. Though the war was over, many people were wary of removing their habitual warding. Remus was glad Lyall was counted among them. As soon as he had crossed the border, he disapparated.

He reappeared in the middle of a forest. The trees hugged close in the dark, rustling and hissing in the wind. Besides the creatures of the night, it seemed utterly abandoned. Remus filled his crushed lungs with the sharp air and pulled his wand out with numbing fingers.

"Point me," he whispered, breath ghosting outwards. The wand spun towards the north. Remus shoved it and his hands into his pockets and strode briskly in the opposite direction. It had been some time since he'd come here. Besides a week ago, the last time was in late summer. It had not been pleasant.

The rogue werewolf pack was well-removed from the world, burrowed into an abandoned farmhouse. Destitution, despair, and rejection had driven them into a bitter subhuman existence. In the dusk of the war, this pack became a satellite group for Greyback, following Voldemort's false promise of equality. Remus' attempt to turn them away had fallen on deaf ears. He had been chased from the territory like a stray dog, mangy, hungry, and wounded. He never planned to return.

But he had a new purpose this evening.

He could smell them before he saw them. The foul odor of rotting food and human stench and blood drifted through the thinning trees. Remus slowed and skirted around an overgrown field until he could see the firelight flickering in the farmhouse. Various lean-to tents were erected around the barn, migrant werewolves clustering together, seeking shelter. The Ministry's scourging of Britain in the aftermath of Voldemort's defeat had driven many werewolves past even the fringes of society. The pack had grown to at least twice the size it had been in the summer.

Remus kept to the tall weeds, feet crunching on the frozen ground. But the noise did not matter, as a ruckus from the barn was overpowering. Naked twigs and brambles clung to his cloak as he passed and he gingerly untangled himself. The fabric was already so worn and patched as it was. The coat beneath, the gift from James and Lily, was too precious to damage.

There was a snapping of undergrowth, causing Remus to pause. He tensed, hand tightening on his wand in his pocket.

"Lupin?" rasped a hoarse voice.

"Here," Remus whispered, tension draining.

In the dim light, a silhouette appeared, hunched and wiry. So thin that the clothing flapped uselessly around the figure's bones, like a scarecrow from a horror film. He came closer and Remus could just make out the features of his face. Sunken, gleaming eyes scintillated in deep sockets. One was milky, an orb of white punctuated with a shadow of palest blue, like a crater in the moon.

"Sorry, I'm late, Len," Remus apologized.

"S'fine," came the answering rasp. "Can't stand the rabble. Like the solitude." Abalendu, or Len, had remained neutral throughout the war, having been clear-sighted enough to be wary of Voldemort's empty promises to the werewolves. He and Remus had a wary trust between them, built on Remus' goodwill and Len's scraps of information.

"Anything?"

"Nothing," Len responded. He rubbed his hands together, finger tips poking through the gloves. "Not a whiff. But his main players ain't been here since you came a week ago."

"That unusual?"

"Maybe," Len murmured slowly. "Ministry's got 'em all goin' to ground. But no one here's crowing about no child-killing. If it really was Greyback, he would not like to hear that you're sniffing around. Too many ears. Y' may not like it, but many of the wolves here see Greyback as a protector of sorts."

Remus nodded, knowing this was true. In the eyes of many werewolves, Greyback was a revolutionary against oppression. Radical and extreme, but outwardly defiant against society. After years of struggle, it was easier to turn a blind eye to his violent tendencies.

"How's it been here since Voldemort's fall?" Remus asked.

"Mixed. Some don't care. Many are angry. Ministry ain't been too lenient since then, ramping up the rules. As if You-Know-Who woulda kept his word. If anybody's glad he's gone, they ain't stupid enough to say it here."

"What about you?"

"Glad he's gone," Len murmured, mismatched eyes twitching. He wrung his hands. "For now. I would let this one go, if I was you."

Remus stayed silent, chewing over Len's piece of advice. Doubt crept in once more. _What was he doing here?_ Perhaps the shadows in his mind were simply imaginary. A product of his own desperate need for purchase in his own grief, spurred by his paranoid new shadow. Had he invented an incorporeal threat to escape his new reality? Depression washed over him, heavy and unyielding. He shouldn't have come here.

"Y'okay, Lupin?"

Remus realized he'd been quiet longer than he realized. "Fine," he muttered. "Thanks Len. Here-" Remus paused and dug into his coat, seeking the warmth of the home-made rolls. He swiftly unwrapped two of the soft orbs and shoved them into Len's skeletal fingers. "Take these. You need to eat."

"Nah, Lupin, these are yours." Len tried to return them, but Remus backed away.

"Please, Len. They're a gift," Remus insisted. "You didn't have to give me that information, I know it was a risk."

Len's luminous eyes stared balefully, but he did not protest. His hands had begun to tremble with desperate hunger the moment the yeasty aroma of the rolls had hit the air. He nodded solemnly in thanks, then departed without any further exchange.

Remus watched him go, his feet and ears aching with the cold. A freezing wind rattled the bare canopy above. Through the naked branches, Remus could see the waning crescent of the moon against the black, gaping sky. It was past midnight. _Let this go,_ he told himself. _Learn to live without… without what?_ _Fighting? Purpose? Everything…_

" _But what about the wandmaker's apprentice? Will he get no justice?"_ demanded Sirius, preying on his weakened will. " _You are much more than this."_

Remus squeezed his eyes shut against him. "Stop it," he whispered to the empty air. He was haunted, not by a ghost of the dead, but by the living. He scrubbed his closed eyes with the heels of his hands until stars burst bright behind his eyelids. He needed to stop this. It was only making things worse. He steadied himself, mentally burying everything, the attack, the werewolves, the desolation, Sirius…

The letter crinkled in his pocket, the salutation in faded ink, but stamped into his memory.

 _Dear Moony, I hope-_

Remus snatched it and crumbled it into a ball with his fists. Then he wound up his arm, ready to chuck it as far as he could into the dark forest. He waited frozen, willing his arm to move.

And couldn't.

Sighing, he flattened it out. He could not see the script in the darkness, which was for the best. He didn't want to read it now. Carefully, he tucked it back into his coat. Then he disapparated with a snap, unaware that his audience was more than the unfeeling trees. A shape, ink black, detached from an ancient hawthorn and glided smoothly to where the werewolf had been standing. There, it lingered. Then, it melted into the darkness with a brief flash of purest white. His hands gleamed like bleached bone.

* * *

 _April 1, 1986_

"Sirius! Harry! Wonderful, you're here."

Sirius spun out of the fireplace, Harry clinging to him tightly. Arthur was smiling widely at them. They had emerged on the other side of the floo into the living room of the Weasley home, dubbed the Burrow. Everything had an aura of home to it, from the crocheted throws and warm colors, to the hundreds of pictures and drawings on the walls. An aroma of baking things, food, and a distinct whiff of dungbomb drifted through the air.

And the _sounds_. Unlike the peaceful quiet of the cottage, this was almost like being back in the Gryffindor common room. There was laughter, chattering, bickering. From somewhere up above them came the distinct shouts of Molly Weasley herself.

"William Arthur Weasley! If you don't come out of your room _this very second_ I swear I will shear the rest off! See what your cool friends think then!"

A muffled response echoed down the stairs, followed by a shrieked, "I don't care if you think it's too short! We have guests coming!"

Pause.

"Because I'm your mother and until you move out of my house, you will keep your hair a respectable length!"

"Sorry about that," Arthur said genially, drawing Sirius' attention back down to the living room. "Molly and Bill are having a row. He's been hitting a bit of a rebellious stage lately. Wants to grow his hair out."

"I was born in that stage," Sirius replied, thinking of the muggle girls and motorbikes plastering his walls in Grimmauld Place. "My parents were less than thrilled."

"Well he's our first teenager. We'll have to do this six more times before we get a rest."

Sirius laughed appreciatively. Listening to the argument taper off, he lowered Harry down and brushed ash out of his hair. That's when he noticed a pair of large, brown eyes staring at him from behind Arthur's leg. "Oh. Hello."

"This is Ginny," Arthur introduced, nudging a little girl with a bright red bob in front of him. "Say 'Hello' to Mr. Black and Harry, Gin."

"Hi," she said very shyly. She leaned back on Arthur's patched pants, giving Sirius a dubious look. Knowing he still looked skeletal and vampiric, he quickly tried to put her at ease.

"I'm not the most good-looking guy in the world, am I?" he asked, quirking a brow.

She shook her head mutely.

"Well I think you're probably pretty enough for all of us, don't you think?"

She giggled. "Maybe. Mum says you need fattening."

"Does she?" Sirius gasped with exaggerated shock. "That's excellent then, because your mum knows how to cook."

"Sirius doesn't," Harry said, warming to the conversation. Arthur was starting to chuckle.

"Hey now, last night does not count," Sirius protested. "I didn't burn the noodles on purpose!"

"How do you even burn noodles?" Arthur asked curiously.

"You forget about them until the water's boiled away," Sirius grumbled, ready for a new subject. Luckily, he was saved by a loud _BANG!_

Harry startled violently and grabbed tightly onto Sirius' legs. Purple smoke trailed lazily in from the neighboring room. Heart pounding, Sirius waited for Arthur's face to reflect his own alarm. But Arthur merely exhaled long and slow and lifted his eyes to the ceiling. A few seconds passed…

"DAD! FRED BLEW UP THE TABLE!"

"Merlin Perce, you're-"

"-such a tattletale!"

"Just because it's your birthday does not mean you get to do whatever you want!"

"Yes I can! And I'm _not_ Fred! I'm George!"

"WHATEVER!"

"Only joshing with ya, Perce-"

"He _is_ Fred!"

Arthur closed his eyes and seemed to be counting to himself silently.

" _DAD!_ "

Giving Sirius a wry look, Arthur turned and went towards the source of the purple smoke. Sirius followed, apprehension turning into curiosity.

"Boys, that is enough," he said sternly. "Finite!"

The air cleared, revealing a large kitchen area with a table long enough to fit twelve people. One end was still smoldering, giving off a lavender haze. At this end, three boys were talking over each other, all with brilliantly red hair. One was clearly older and had horn-rimmed glasses that perched crookedly on his nose. The other two wore identical, trouble-making smirks. Sirius liked them instantly.

"They started it dad, I was just minding my own business-"

"It was all in good fun, dad, just a little _bang_ to spice up the day-"

"Besides, I think the table looks better this way-"

" _Better?!_ It's turning pink! And you nearly got my arm! What the hell was that?!"

"Color bomb, duh."

Indeed, the table was splotched with flamingo-colored patches. Arthur sighed and shot another reversal spell at the table. Slowly, the wood began to regain its customary golden grain.

"There we go," Arthur said over the three of them. Something in his voice made them all stop talking. "No harm done, Percy, just a little prank. Fred, George, you should be more careful. A joke is only fun if everyone is safe enough to enjoy it."

"Sure thing, da!" spouted the twin on the left.

"Yeah, sorry you feel _unsafe_ , Perce, not our intention," simpered the twin on the right, a shit-eating grin splitting his face.

Percy straightened his glasses primly. "I forgive you," he muttered, not sounding very forgiving at all.

"Excellent!" Arthur clapped his hands together. "Because I want to introduce you to Sirius Black and Harry Potter. This is Percy, he's nine, and the birthday boys, who are turning eight today. Fred," He pointed to the twin on the left- "And George." The twin on the right.

Percy walked up to Sirius, straight-backed and held out a hand. Sirius took it, trying not to laugh. "It is an honor to meet you, Mr. Black," he said politely. Then he smiled at Harry and offered him a handshake as well. "Hiya Harry. It's an honor to meet you too."

Harry's mouth was open with confusion, but he shyly shook Percy's hand. Percy's eyes lingered on Harry's face, flicking to the hidden scar under the bangs. He clearly knew the story of Halloween, but was trying not to stare with awe. Snickering, Fred and George scrambled up as a pair.

"Gee-whiz, Mr. Black, it is the greatest honor!" Fred said, adopting a very posh accent. Harry started giggling.

"No honor is the highest, Mr. Black! And _Harry Potter,_ what a treat!" George mimicked Percy's straight posture and serious face as he dead-panned, "I think I might just die of excitement."

Sirius could not hold it together any longer and snorted. "Call me Sirius," he said. "None of this Mr. Black nonsense."

"Righto, Sirius!" George grinned. "Tell me, what is your opinion of the color pink for a table? Just at Percy's spot, he's too shy to ask see-"

"I am not-!"

"Did they even _have_ tables in Azkaba-"

"Ooookay," Arthur interrupted Fred. Sirius was too busy chortling to really notice any impertinence. "So that's four of the Weasleys introduced. Percy, where's Ron?"

"I've been here the _whole time,_ dad," piped an annoyed voice just on the other side of the table. Sirius looked over to see a scrunched forehead visible over the wooden surface. The crown of ginger hair caught the sunlight through the window, making it look comically like a candle.

"Oh, sorry Ronnie, didn't see you there," Arthur apologized. "Come around here and greet our guests."

A younger boy about Harry's age circumnavigated the table, a small frown on his face at being overlooked. He was taller than Harry, with big, slightly awkward bare feet. His blue eyes were glancing between Sirius and Harry with curiosity.

"Hullo," he said quietly. "I'm Ron."

"Ron just turned six last month. Ron, Harry is about your age."

"You are?" Ron was started to sound more intrigued.

"I'm five," Harry admitted, speaking for the first time since they'd entered the kitchen. "But I'll be six on July thirty-first."

"So I'm older than you."

"Only a little."

"I still am." But Ron did not sound competitive, just amazed at the fact. Sirius realized that he must be the youngest Weasley brother.

"Hey, you two will be the same year in Hogwarts!" Percy exclaimed, counting on his fingers. "Do you think Harry will be in Gryffindor?"

"Of course he'll be in Gryffindor, Perce, he's _Harry Potter,_ " George said, rolling his eyes.

"It's ickle Ronniekins we should be worried about," Fred teased.

"Hey!" Ron snapped, his ears turning hot pink in warning. "I will too be in Gryffindor!"

"Boys, leave Ron alone," Arthur sighed. It sounded like a common refrain. "It is much too early to be arguing about Hogwarts Houses when none of you have been sorted either. How about you guys go give Harry a tour of your rooms while we get everything set up for the party?"

"Okay!" said the twins brightly. "Last one up is a rotten dragon egg!" They took off up the stairs without waiting for anyone. Percy made a face at their backs. Then he walked over to Ginny, who was looking longingly after her twin brothers, and took her hand.

"Come on, Gin, you can come too. Let's go, Ron, Harry."

Harry was staring wide-eyed at where the twins had disappeared with a noisy crashing. Ron smiled at Harry and said, "If we run we'll beat Percy. He's _always_ a rotten dragon egg."

Harry snuck a look at Sirius. Sirius nodded encouragingly, so Harry grinned at Ron. "Okay, let's go!"

The two boys took off like shots past Percy and Ginny, Harry keeping up with the taller Ron remarkably well. Percy let them go, concentrating on his little sister.

"Careful boys!" Arthur called them. "Better a rotten dragon egg than a broken one!" Sirius listened to the pounding of little feet on the stairs, ascending up into the house. Somewhere, he heard Molly repeating the same warning. He realized suddenly that this was the first time he'd really let Harry out of his sight for more than a few minutes.

"They'll be fine," Arthur assured him, reading his thoughts. "You would not believe the layers of precautionary spellwork Molly and I have put on this house over the years. Fred and George are particularly accident prone."

"They're quite the pair," Sirius observed dryly.

"You have no idea. Haven't had a day of peace since this day eight years ago." But Arthur was not complaining. If Sirius had learned anything about the older man, he rarely complained.

Molly came down shortly and gave Sirius a warm hug. Surprised, he returned it, her orange curls only coming up to his collarbones. Then she held him back with both hands and gave him a long searching stare.

"How have you been Sirius?" she asked.

"Fine," he answered, getting a sense that there was more behind the question. But he could not figure it out, so he simply added, "Thank you for the cookbook, by the way. I'm, er, learning."

Beside him, Arthur was snickering good-naturedly. Molly shot her husband a confused look, but quickly returned her probing gaze to Sirius.

"You look tired," she commented.

Sirius shrugged. It did not take a very astute observer to see that. The bags under his eyes were a permanent, bruised purple. Another sleepless night passed and another mystery layered onto the aftermath of Halloween. The small boy murdered by Greyback flashed through his mind. _He was Harry's age_ , Sirius could not help but notice.

Molly was still waiting for him to say something, so he lied, "I'm sleeping fine, I just have a lot to make up for. I didn't sleep much the last few years."

"Hmmm." This answer just made her expression contract even more with disquiet.

So he took the attention off himself by asking about their Easter holiday. She responded with a smile and allowed the conversation to move away from dangerous waters. Commenting on how skinny he was, she set about making the meal, pots and pans flying and aromas filling the air. Eventually, the eldest Weasley child slipped down the stairs, hand running over his short hair, followed by one more, who had double the amount of freckles than the rest of the family.

Bill and Charlie were both in school Hogwarts, but home for the Easter holiday. They would be returning to school the next day. Excited to have two young Gryffindors to influence, Sirius went outside with them to de-gnome the blooming garden and chat about school. Bill, now in fourth year, sounded like he loved every class. Charlie was in his second year and very excited for his Care of Magical Creatures class that he would be taking the next year.

"Any creature you're particularly interested in?" said Sirius, swinging a gnome by its feet over his head. He let go and watched it soar over the hedge to the far end of the paddock.

"Dragons," Charlie and Bill said together. Charlie smirked at his older brother.

"You and Hagrid must get along then."

"Yeah Hagrid's awesome. Gave me a book on dragons this year, it's really interesting. And he promised that I could go on a hike with him into the Forbidden Forest this weekend to look for thestrals! Not that I'll be able to see them…"

"Careful, Charlie, you never know what could be lurking in the Forest," Bill warned in a spooky voice, wiggling his fingers.

"Oh cut it out, Bill," Charlie snapped. "I'm not afraid of the Forest."

"He's right, you know," Sirius added, trying to keep a straight face. "There could be werewolves."

"There are no werewolves at Hogwarts," Charlie replied, rolling his eyes and hurling another gnome in a graceful arc.

"I wouldn't be so sure if I were you," Sirius said mysteriously. He flung a gnome after Charlie's, but it fell short.

"What does that mean?" Charlie asked sharply.

Sirius shrugged. Bill snorted.

"Come on, Sirius, what does it mean?" begged Charlie. "There aren't werewolves at Hogwarts, right?"

Sirius just chuckled and changed the subject to secret passageways. This had the two Weasley boys needling him with questions for the rest of the de-gnoming session. By that time, it was getting warmer and the smell of their late lunch was drifting from the open windows of the Burrow. Arthur brought out two battered tables and, instead of setting them, challenged Sirius to a table duel (a strange, Weasley family tradition that Sirius instantly decided to adopt).

Attracted by the crashing of the two levitating tables, Harry and the younger Weasleys came streaming outside to cheer them on. Harry clapped and laughed along with them, wonder shining in his emerald eyes. Bolstered, Sirius smashed his table into Arthur's one more time, splintering one of the legs, to the whooping of the twins. This was quickly repaired, then the tables were set with patched cloths and chipped, mismatched plates.

As usual, Molly's lunch was delicious. Eating a meal with the Weasleys was the closest Sirius had come to pure chaos since Harry was an infant. Even without knowing any proper magic, the twins managed to stash firecrackers beneath the table, startling everyone from their seats at least twice. Harry was shocked at first, but with Ron talking in his ear at inhuman speed, he began to settle into the craziness with a small smile on his face. Molly brought out an enormous cake, frosted with chocolate and decorated with sixteen candles, eight for each twin. They fizzed colorful sparks when lit, and a raucous chorus of "Happy Birthday" was sung very out of tune. Inside, the cake had been colored green on one side and blue on the other.

Bellies full, the twins opened a few presents, which mostly consisted of a prank toys and sweets (which Molly seemed to be giving begrudgingly). Sirius could not help but notice the difference from his own gifts when he was younger. The quantity was much smaller, and there seemed to be a care with which the gifts were chosen. An attention to who the twins were, not who the Weasleys wanted them to be. It reminded him of Remus' birthday presents from his parents. Not marvelous displays of monetary wealth, perhaps, but wealth of another kind (James' were always a show of both).

Out of habit or politeness, Harry was the first to start clearing the table. Molly absolutely fawned over him and ordered her own children to assist, marching dishes and empty platters into the kitchen to be washed later. Then the children decided to play outside, so the adults took their places on the porch to watch. Despite his cabin-fever, Sirius was nervous about Harry being outside of the wards of their home for too long, especially in the open air of the paddock where a game of tag had started. But, Merlin, it was good to see Harry playing and making friends.

The day was nearly perfect.

Until Sirius excused himself to take his and Arthur and Molly's empty teacups inside and place them by the sink. He could still see the kids out the window over the sink, and was contemplating joining them as Padfoot, needing to stretch his legs.

But something caught his eye, folded up and tucked behind a jar of flour. Someone seemed to have tried to stash it out of sight. Eyebrows contracting, Sirius recognized the black print font of _The_ _Daily Prophet_. The date on the top read _April 1, 1986._ It was today's paper. Curious (he had not gotten a subscription to the wizarding paper yet), he pulled the paper from its hiding place.

His own face stared up at him. He could feel the blood draining from his cheeks and air rushing out of his lungs. It was a face that was five years younger. The Sirius of the photo was holding his prison number, grimy walls of Azkaban closing him, dark hair limp. Deep shadows masked his eyes. His expression was… unreadable. But Sirius knew exactly what was happening behind that grayscale veil.

The memory of it was as strong as the moment. It surged up and grasped him with a vice of cold, scabbing fingers. Anguish, panic, numb horror. _Don't panic, don't panic-_

The photo blurred and popped with stars. Sirius realized he was not breathing and sucked in a breath through his teeth. The air was not saturated enough. Light-headed, Sirius lowered his eyes to the headline: _FROM GUARDED TO GUARDIAN: HOW FIT FOR FATHERHOOD IS SIRIUS BLACK? By Rita Skeeter._

The panic was replaced by dread. A thumbnail near the author's name showed a witch with tightly wound curls and winged glasses, flourishing a quill flirtatiously at the camera. _Shit,_ his racing thoughts supplied. The article forced his eyes magnetically to the first sentence.

 _We all have nightmares. Now imagine being trapped in a nightmare for so long you forget what happiness is. No wonder the inmates of Azkaban are insane._

 _Studies show that after an average of six months, a person with constant exposure to dementors will succumb to madness. Sirius Black was exonerated from his crimes after four and a half years of the dementors' influence. Then, just one week post-release from Azkaban, the newly freed Sirius Black officially took custody of Harry Potter. These are the facts. So the question naturally arises: Is the ex-inmate of Azkaban ready to care for the Boy-Who-Lived?_

 _Many will recall Black's unusual emotional response on the day he was first imprisoned. Having just lost his best friend and betrayed by another, one would expect grief, anger, or even an attempt to protest his guilt. Instead, Black laughed all the way to Azkaban._

 _[Article continued on Page 4A]._

There was a tearing sound as Sirius ripped to the fourth page, blood roaring in his ears, bile in his throat. His fingers stung with multiple microscopic papercuts

" _It is quite common to see such a response in someone experiencing shock," says Carl Mesmer, wizarding psychological consultant for the Ministry. "But recovery would have been difficult in a place like Azkaban."_

 _Fast forward to Black's exoneration. In a dramatic confrontation, Ministry guards had to restrain Black from attacking Peter Pettigrew and taking justice into his own hands during the famous trial. This was one of several violent outbursts, which contrasted alarmingly with periods of catatonic daze throughout the trial._

 _Then Black was immediately spirited away by Albus Dumbledore and has only been seen in public once since his release. Rumors are spreading that Poppy Pomfrey, the Hogwarts medi-witch, has left her post to visit Black's hiding place on multiple occasions. Both Dumbledore and Pomfrey refused to comment._

 _Mesmer says, "I would not dare to speculate on Black's current state. He has been through a difficult ordeal and must be given time recover from this trauma. Only a mind truly detached from normal emotional response would be able to easily leave the horrors of Azkaban behind."_

 _And there we have it. Black is either traumatized or bordering on sociopathic._

 _Black's own childhood mostly obscured, but I can report that he ran away from home at only 16 years old and was promptly disowned by his own mother. One can only imagine what life in that household was like. Does Black truly understand how to raise a child?_

 _Despite all of these questions and doubts, Dumbledore still trusts him with the young hero of the wizarding world. My question, dear reader, is do you? Is it wise for the Ministry to allow Harry Potter to stay with Black? Time will tell. We can only hope that the Boy-Who-Lived is safe with his new guardian._

The article ended, but Sirius could not move.

"Sirius? You okay in here?"

Tense muscles twitched and spasmed. His hands crumbled the paper a little more. He sensed Arthur come up beside him and freeze. He needed to say something, anything to break the straining silence.

"Dumbledore said this might happen," Sirius forced past his throat.

"He has a knack for knowing things before they happen" Arthur observed cautiously. "But that probably does not help, does it?"

"You'd think I'd be used to it by now," Sirius joked weakly, striving to cover how hard the article struck him. "People making wild speculations about my character."

"This is different though. Before you were sure they were wrong."

Sirius stared at the man beside him, with his receding red hair and face that showed only small signs of wear and weather. It was rare for him to meet someone who so readily tore down his masks, yet Arthur seemed to traipse past them with ease.

"They _were_ wrong," Sirius replied slowly, studying the way Arthur's blue eyes reflected his own turmoil. "But this time…"

"This time you think they could be right."

"Minerva said I have to have a little faith in myself," Sirius responded, unwilling to confirm that Arthur was correct.

"Seems like a lot of people are telling you things," Arthur pointed out. "But I want to know what _you_ feel about it. I have no idea what it's like to return to the world after incarceration in Azkaban, but I certainly know what it's like to feel incompetent. I could fail my children someday. In fact, I probably will."

"I…" Sirius looked away from Arthur, down to the uniform blocks of words stained onto the paper. "I can't bear the thought of failing Harry," he finally whispered. It nearly paralyzed him to voice it. "But what if… what if I already have?"

"It's not your fault that you were in Azkaban."

"Maybe."

Arthur said nothing, just waited. Sirius' eye caught little accusing ink arrangements as he stared at the defaming article. _Experiencing shock, violent, catatonic, traumatized, sociopathic._ Did any of those descriptions belong to him? Would he be able to tell if they did?

"Molly read it, didn't she?"

"She did," Arthur confirmed.

"I thought she seemed… worried."

Arthur heard the question in Sirius' careful comment. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards slightly. "She worries, she can't help herself. But she was not concerned about your competency as a parent, only about your health."

"You sure about that?"

"Okay, I admit, she was alarmed at first," Arthur said sheepishly. "But Molly tends to react first, think later. It didn't take long for her to start fussing over the fact that you're far too skinny and talking about the healing value of the innocent. In other words, she approves of you as a guardian."

Sirius recalled her anxious questions about his health and sleep hygiene when he arrived, the way she greeted him like an old friend. Arthur must be telling the truth then. He hoped.

"I lied to her earlier," he admitted softly. "I don't sleep. I get maybe two or three hours and then… and then I can't do it anymore."

Concern showed in the creases in Arthur's forehead. He opened his mouth to speak, but Sirius' mind was already racing to the next thing, locking his own interior demons away tightly.

"They can't take him, can they?"

"The Ministry?"

"Yeah. I mean… I know muggles have laws and stuff-"

"I don't think so."

"But if they really had reason to believe I was… unfit or something…" Because Sirius would fight them tooth and nail. And if it came to them pounding down their door, he would take Harry and disappear. Then he would truly be a fugitive, guilty of kidnapping his own godson.

"I say let this run its course," Arthur advised. "You just got him, Sirius. People will talk and speculate and there's nothing you can do about it except move on. Besides, from what I hear about the Dursleys-"

There was a creaking on the porch and then Harry himself entered the kitchen. Arthur stopped speaking immediately and Sirius plastered a fake smile on his face. He surreptitiously stuck the newspaper back into his hiding place as he said, "Hi Harry. Are you enjoying the game?"

"Yeah," he said. He was breathing a little hard from running and his face was flushed. "I just needed to use the washroom."

"Just around the corner, Harry," Arthur instructed warmly.

"Okay thanks." He glanced between the two adults with a thoughtful frown on his face, then trotted off to the washroom. Sirius noticed the red cheeks and wind-chapped lips. A memory surfaced suddenly, resurrected by the absence of the dementors, of Euphemia Potter scolding him and James for forgetting to hydrate on a hot day of quidditch. He filled a glass with water.

"Drink a little of that so you don't get dehydrated, Prongslet" he instructed when Harry emerged. "Not too fast, or you'll cramp up. There."

Once Harry was out the door, Arthur was chuckling. "Don't know why Skeeter's throwing a fit. You're practically a mother hen already."

"Shut up."

But Sirius felt a little better.

"Speaking of mother hens, Molly is going to start invited you two over more often," Arthur said. "Just thought I'd warn you. She has a tendency to adopt strays."

Sirius grinned crookedly at the description. He and Harry were certainly strays. Strays that belonged to each other, though. "I think I'd like that," he said. Mentally he added, _as long as she is not too overbearing…_

"Bring that flying motorbike you told me about too," Arthur added in a whisper, a mischievous glint in his eyes. They could hear Molly yelling at the boys outside, so they weren't really in danger of being overheard. "I'd really like to see the adjustments and compare to the Ford."

"Same," Sirius agreed, missing his bike and trying not to think about the last time he'd ridden it. He'd write Hagrid tonight. "Do you mind if I take your paper home with me? I haven't gotten a subscription yet."

"Molly and I both read through it this morning, so it's yours." But there was hesitation in his statement.

"I won't brood over it too much," Sirius said with a roll of his eyes, pulling up his blasé mask again. Just for his own comfort. "Besides, I used to like doing the crossword. Maybe it'll take my mind off things for a little while."

"Perhaps it will."

Sirius gladly folded up the _Daily Prophet_ , obscuring his young, haunted face, and went to put it in the pocket of his cloak, which was hanging by the door. He would write for a subscription tomorrow. He was tired of getting information second-hand. It was time to stop ignoring the world that left him behind.

* * *

"Sirius, there's a scary man outside," gasped Harry in a high voice.

He came pattering into the living room swiftly on bare feet, stopping just behind Sirius' arm chair. His hair was still wet from his bath and he was wearing pajama bottoms covered in snowy owls. Sirius was not sure whether to indulge to bloom of warmth in his chest, or stomp to the door and yell at Mad-Eye Moody.

"Uh, it's okay Harry," he reassured his godson, stifling a laugh. "He's a friend."

He ruffled the damp hair and pushed himself out of his comfortable seat and to the door. Sure enough, through the long framing windows, he could see the auror glowering at him. With his scarred face, mismatched eyes, and dour expression, Sirius was not surprised that Harry was startled by his appearance.

"Were you planning on knocking?" Sirius groused when he let the patch-work wizard inside. Mad-Eye shook water off his oiled cloak and cast a few drying spells. After the beautiful warm afternoon, the heavens had turned stifled and gloomy. Rain was now pouring in sheets through the night.

"I was. But the tyke saw me." Mad-Eye glanced over Sirius' shoulder and waved. The gesture contrasted comically with the rest of the auror. Harry was peering around the corner at Mad-Eye, his mouth open.

"This is Mad-Eye Moody, Harry," Sirius said with a smile. "I know he looks rough, but he has a heart of gold."

Mad-Eye snorted and Harry looked dubious as he stepped the rest of his body into the foyer and looked up at the intimidating auror. His eyes flicked back and forth, clearly taking in the pieced-together body parts, but too polite to ask about them.

"A pleasure to meet you, Potter," Mad-Eye rumbled, his own blue eye steady as he offered a hand. Harry shook it gingerly. "I've heard great things about you."

"Is your eye magic?" Harry asked shyly after a few moments.

"It can see through the back of my head."

Harry gasped. "Whoa. That's like Aunt Petunia!"

"Probably not." Mad-Eye clearly was not comfortable with indulging children. He stared at Harry without saying any more. Sirius' amusement grew as he realized that the unflappable auror was actually feeling awkward. Young kids were definitely not his area of expertise. Sirius crossed his arms and allowed the silence to stretch…

"Erm… I just had a few updates…" Mad-Eye finally said to Sirius.

"Okay," Sirius drew out the word with a wink. "Harry, how about you climb into bed and I'll come in and say goodnight when Mad-Eye leaves."

"Can you read a story?"

"Sure thing."

"Awesome. Goodnight Mr. Moody!"

"G'night," Moody grunted. Harry pattered to his room, stopping in the living room to grab _The Tales of Beedle The Bard_. Once they heard the door closed, Sirius silently lead him to the kitchen. On the table was _The Daily Prophet_. The haunted face was shadowing the front page. Mad-Eye gave it a cursory glance. Sirius flipped it upside down.

"You read it, then. Woman knows how to stir up trouble."

"Whatever."

"It bother you?"

"You said you had something to tell me."

"I do."

Pause.

"Well, spit it out."

Mad-Eye crossed his arms stubbornly. "It bothers you."

"Yeah, so maybe it does."

"You can't let shit get under your skin, Black."

"Kind of hard to do when I'm stuck here wondering if they're right," Sirius snapped. Mad-Eye lifted a scarred brow, unimpressed. Sirius exhaled, trying to control his pent up emotion. He felt off-balance, so easily disturbed by the smallest thing. "I'll get over it."

"I mentioned to Scrimgeour that you may want to be reinstated."

"Yeah?" Sirius asked, still breathing through his nose. "And what did he say, that he doesn't want a possibly mental ex-inmate in his department?"

"No, he's willing to meet. The question is, are you?"

Mad-Eye observed him sharply. Sirius wished he could shake off the scrutiny as he thought. His anger at the Ministry was still bubbling dangerously close to a boil. But… but he needed to do _something_. The weight of unfinished battles was suffocating. And Dumbledore's warnings hung over his head.

"Yes," he said impulsively. There were details that needed to be ironed out. And Harry. Harry would always be the priority. But for now, he'd put his foot in the door.

Mad-Eye nodded approvingly. "I'll have him send an owl."

"Looking forward to it. What else?"

"Didn't want to say anything until I was sure, but certain... activity has picked up since Harry moved in with you."

"What kind of activity?"

"What kind do you think?" Mad-Eye sighed. "It could just be hysteria over your release and the revelation that a formerly dead man was actually a Death Eater. People seeing things. Sightings of the older Mulciber and Avery have been reported in Knockturn Alley."

Sirius clenched his fists, his nerves jumping. "How many Death Eaters avoided Azkaban in the first place?"

"Lost count. Nott, Mulciber Senior, both Averys, Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Macnair, Karkaroff, Greyback, the list goes on. Many plead imperius curse. Some are on the run. Too many are unknown, slipped through the cracks."

Sirius began to pace. He could remember scraps of the war before Azkaban like the hazy thoughts before falling asleep. He had thrown himself into his work, both as an auror and a member of the Order. Every waking moment was focused on a new threat, a new darkness. Then, while he was tossed in the wizarding prison, the same wizards he'd hunted had manipulated their way around punishment. Grinding his teeth, he forced down a wave of nauseating enmity.

"Have they been causing any trouble?" he grit out.

"No," Mad-Eye answered. "Most prefer to lay low. After that first year, even muggle-baiting decreased. Couldn't catch 'em on anything, so we've just been very watchful."

"What about Greyback?"

"Well, Greyback is another story. There have been a few isolated incidents, but he's good at staying hidden. The few werewolves that would want to see him behind bars won't talk to us. And I don't entirely blame them."

Neither did Sirius. That was the terrible reason his trust of Remus began to erode away in the first place. Why Remus never knew that Peter was the Secret Keeper. That Sirius was innocent. Still, deep in the recesses of his soul, the question beat against its confinement, _did Remus ever question his guilt? Or was their bond of brotherhood already so broken that he never even wondered?_

Because Sirius had pushed him away. It was a small sin that he knew would never be absolved from his conscience.

"You okay, Black?"

"Always," Sirius grinned tiredly.

Mad-Eye huffed a small chuckle at the response. "Yeah. Your friend Lupin used to always be okay, too."

"You didn't believe him, right?"

"No, never did."

"Good."

The seasoned auror scanned him with a permeating stare. "If he's out there somewhere, he'd be glad to know that you're innocent."

"Would he?" Sirius muttered.

"He would," Mad-Eye insisted. "After it all… he could never truly reconcile what you had done. Death was always a possibility back then. He grieved and it wasn't easy, but at least he could understand human mortality. But betrayal…"

Mad-Eye did not need to continue. Sirius knew what betrayal did. It freezes something inside you. Turns it to a glacial vacancy, so foolish creatures like trust could not escape again. The temperature in the kitchen seemed to drop.

"Well, I'll let you go and read to Harry," Mad-Eye said suddenly. "Good night, Black."

"Night," Sirius replied.

 _Harry._

His jaded thoughts softened. When he was finally sitting on Harry's bed, James' son curled against his side listening to _Babbity Rabbity and her Cackling Stump_ , Sirius felt a little warmth trickle back into his fingers.

That icy place inside was beginning to thaw.

* * *

 **a/n: Love you all and thanks to everyone who follows/favorites/reviews. Until next time...don't know when that will be (grrr... midterms). But we'll pick up the pace in the next chapter now that I feel like I've established a foundation. Leave a review in the meantime :)**


	9. Here, Gone

**"Remember to look up at the stars and not down at your feet. Try to make sense of what you see and wonder about what makes the universe exist. Be curious." - Stephen Hawking**

 **I had to include this quote in honor of the late physicist. It has nothing to do with the story... or does it? Heehee.** **Thanks for reading and for sticking with me! You people deserve another chapter this weekend.**

 **-Cat**

* * *

Chapter 9

Here/Gone

 _December 26, 1981_

The room was walled with ebony subway tile in the style of the Ministry. It was supposed to elegant, but here it was grim. The brass fixtures were tarnished, the polish of the floor worn to a gray matte by years upon years of tired feet. The wooden chairs were un-cushioned and hard. Scratches gouged the armrests from hundreds of nervous fingernails.

Remus remained absolutely still, clenching his hands into fists to keep himself from fidgeting. He averted his gaze from the elderly witch at the front desk, who was methodically sealing envelopes and filling out forms. She looked a like a vulture, hunched over in the dim light, occasionally glancing at him with suspicious, beaded eyes. In his hands he clutched the summons to the Ministry.

It was a mandatory evaluation, eight weeks post November first. And an addendum concerning the death of Danny Carmichael. His palms were clammy, and his throat was dry.

" _You will willingly submit to the truth serum?"_

" _Yes."_

He swallowed roughly. Fresh panic rose in his chest and he struggled to tamp it down into the place where he was keeping other painful things. Like heartbreak. Like hope.

The meeting time on the summons instructed him to arrive at eleven a.m., Boxing Day. It was now noon. He knew better than to question the timing. But the waiting was starting to feel like slow torture. He leaned his head against the ceramic wall and tried closing his eyes and breathing deeply to relax. The air felt too heavy.

 _Don't panic…_

Merlin, his head was spinning…

" _Easy does it, Moony. We're all here with you, Padfoot and Wormy and me. We'll be here until the moon sets, I promise…"_

He jolted away from the wall, the sudden flare of grief turning the floor upside down. James. Merlin, he needed James. He needed him yesterday, when Christmas plodded by unbearably empty. When he hallucinated Sirius' baritone carols in every silence, when the ghost of Peter flitted excitedly around corners, when a phantom child weighed down his arm. When he'd returned from his father's house and stared at a bottle of whiskey (originally intended as a Christmas gift for them all). Wanting to forget, but hating the reminder.

James always knew how to overcome things. He was unyielding and relentless that way. All through Hogwarts and into the war, he was the one that held them together. Promised goodness.

With James, he'd buried assurance.

His whole life was… truncated. As if he were frozen, waiting. The sound of the clock ticking was becoming far too loud.

" _We're all here with you."_

Not anymore.

 _I'm still here, James._

"Lupin."

Remus startled from his thoughts as the sharp voice rapped against his skull. He stood abruptly and faced the committee of wizards standing over him.

He recognized the man who had spoken. He was the auror who had lead the interrogation on November second. Remus felt vaguely ill as he scanned the hard face, remembering it through a haze of veritaserum.

There were two others. One looked to be a member of the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but Remus had never met this particular grunt before. He wore dress-robes, but that was the extent of the care put into his appearance. His jaw-line was patchy and unshaven, his hair greasily combed over a bald spot, and there was a stain of something yellow on his collar. He smelled strongly of cigarette smoke.

The third person was the polar opposite of the Departmental representative. His dress robes were immaculately clean, not even a speck of lint. Tasteful gold cufflinks were the only sign of indulgence. His honeyed hair was coiffed and his face was set in a passive, unremarkable mask. Except for his eyes, which were so delicately brown, they reflected the light like molten metal. Remus figured he must be from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, perhaps a clerk. He clutched a simple briefcase in his left hand, which was covered in a perfectly-fitting glove. The right hung casually by his side, also concealed with pearly white fabric.

"Remus Lupin, you have been summoned to the Ministry today as a mandatory eight-week follow up to the interrogation that occurred on November 2, 1981," said the auror in clipped tones. "I, myself was present, as you may remember. Again, my name is Augustine Burke. This is Callum Tate of the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures here as your rep from the Beast/Being Division. And the Wizengamot Administration Services has sent Eurion Pyrites to keep a record of today's meeting."

The man with the gloves nodded blankly in greeting. His eyes flickered eerily in the light. Tate completely ignored Remus and started walking out of the waiting room. The rest followed, Remus trailing behind. The inner hallway was lined with familiar rooms. Any check-in with the Ministry took place here. Remus was intimately familiar with the dreary cubes of black tile. Each room had a window, which was charmed to look out over a rainy London. Still, the illusion of the outside world helped Remus breathe as he sat in one of the hard metal chairs. Besides the windows, the rooms were not much different from the interrogation chambers.

"As a registered werewolf, your interrogation puts a mark on the Ministry's record, therefore, the main purpose of this meeting is to verify the truth of your responses on that day, as well as to record your whereabouts since then. As you may recall, you were released under the condition that you remain in Britain until the new year and register your transformation locations," said Burke, spreading his papers over the steel table. Remus had not remembered this, but Dumbledore had told him later. "We will conclude with a decision regarding your status in the eyes of the Ministry and perhaps expand your radius of travel. Do you understand?"

Remus nodded, keeping the humiliation from showing on his face.

"I'll need a verbal response."

"I understand."

On Burke's right, Tate was jotting a few things on a piece of paper. Then, he rolled his shoulders with boredom and stared out the window. Pyrites' quill was taking notes of its own accord. He simply observed. Remus was growing more uncomfortable with his immoveable gaze.

"You were brought here at 4:27 p.m. on November second to answer questions regarding your connection to Sirius Black, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"You submitted to questioning. My partner and I believed you to be uncooperative."

Remus refrained from glaring and kept his gaze on the table.

"At 11:56 p.m. You were administered veritaserum."

It was hard to keep himself from swallowing convulsively. The memory of the taste burned as brutal as vulnerability on his tongue.

"You agreed to the use of the truth serum?"

Remus said nothing at first, struggling to keep his temper in check. Burke's dark eyes bored into him. "Yes. You were there."

"There's no need for cheek today, Lupin," Burke admonished. Then he continued blandly. "Your answers starting at 11:57 p.m. are indicated to be under the influence of veritaserum without any deviation from the previous answers…"

Remus slowly went numb as the tedious questions continued. Burke was ruthless, in a way, picking on tiny details, wedging his teeth into wounds that still were unhealed. He asked again about his relationship with Black, with the Potters, with poor little Peter. He painstakingly reviewed everything Remus had done since Halloween. The jobs he'd lost. The crappy apartment he could not afford. His father's home. Full moon. Alice and Frank…

A brief silence broke Remus from his disconnected answers. Burke was making a note on a form and handing it to Tate. Pyrites was still watching him. There was a tiny wrinkle between his neat eyebrows, the only change of expression since they had started.

"What do you know of Liam Carmichael?"

Remus' gaze snapped up to Burke's face. This was what he had been dreading. Burke's eyes were narrowed with intent. Predatory. For the first time, Pyrites took a brief respite from staring at Remus to glance at the auror.

"His son was killed," Remus answered, mouth dry. "They… the papers said it was Greyback."

"Yes, the papers said that. There is, however, evidence he was not working alone. Where did you spend full moon on the night of December eleventh?"

"Storm cellar in the countryside," Remus replied. His heart-rate was increasing. "I reported that to the Department. But since you don't seem to believe that record, Alastor Moody can confirm."

"No need to be defensive," Burke said smoothly. "When was the last contact you've had with the werewolf, Fenrir Greyback?"

"Years ago," Remus lied, omitting their encounters during the end of the war. It was at least partially true. "He initiated. I wanted nothing to do with him."

"He was the werewolf that bit you, was he not?"

"Yes."

"Then I find your response hard to believe. He takes his victims young for a reason."

Remus felt vaguely ill. "I was never a member of his pack. I attended Hogwarts until I was eighteen, then immediately joined the Order of the Phoenix and fought against Voldemort." Tate flinched rather spectacularly. Burke's only reaction was a quick blink, and Pyrites lifted an appraising eyebrow. "I am not associated with Fenrir Greyback."

There was another pause. Burke noted something else with his quill. Then he leaned back and gestured for Tate to speak.

"Do you intend to get another job?" drawled Tate, addressing him for the first time.

"Yes."

"New regulation has passed as a consequence of the attack that occurred this month." Remus felt resigned as he watched Tate pull out a thick slip of paper and stamped it with a purple ink. The seal of the Werewolf Registry. "You are no longer permitted to seek jobs in the muggle world. All employers must be presented with this document _prior_ to any application submission or interview. This license must be renewed every four months for a fee of twenty galleons. Consequences for working without a license will be steep."

The license was pushed across the table to him. Remus just stared at it, struggling to fathom the fee. Everything else, though insulting, was too easy to accept after years of prejudice. But twenty galleons was a steep price for an impoverished werewolf. He imagined the homeless population in Britain increasing even as he sat here.

"A copy will also need to be sent in advance to the Ministry of any country you intend to visit from here on out. Your restriction to Britain will be lifted as long as you adhere to these guidelines."

Tate finished and peered at him with bleary eyes. Remus forced himself to respond with a hoarse, "Fine."

It seemed that their meeting was then over. Meticulously, Burke gathered together his things. Tate stood and stretched, but Pyrites did not move. Burke eyed him with a small hint of irritation.

"Anything the Wizengamot Administration Services would like to add?" he asked pointedly.

Pyrites was unruffled by the large man's attitude. He smiled slightly, somehow stretching his average face in a manner that put Remus on edge. He set his hands on the metal table and folded the fingers precisely together, the cufflinks clicking on the surface. Through the white fabric of his gloves, Remus could see every joint.

"No," Pyrites answered. His voice was measured and controlled. Remus felt like the pale copper gaze was evaluating him, trying to find a crack. "Except to say that you have suffered a great deal in the last few months."

Remus stared at him, shocked by the bluntness from this stranger. Pyrites sounded equivocal, as if speaking about the weather. "Is this relevant?" he managed, his walls tightening, bracing themselves.

"You lost everything."

Remus had the sensation of the floor tilting once more, like he was falling… Then James brushed against his mind again. Something unnameable crystallized in his chest.

"I'm still here." His voice was steady. Unyielding like James. Like the Marauders were supposed to be.

Pyrites' chin tilted up just slightly. As if Remus had surprised him somehow. "I am… sorry for your loss." There was something mechanical in his recitation of this refrain. Then Pyrites unfolded his hands and stood without saying any more. But his stare had changed from curiosity to something else. More intense than before.

"This concludes your interview, Lupin," Burke announced, his jaw grinding as Pyrites casually lifted his briefcase. "You are free to go."

Remus lurched up out of his seat and stalked to the door, snatching the new license as he went. He noticed that his hand was very pale and clammy as he pulled the door open. The three committee members stalked out behind him like sinister shadows, haunting him to the waiting room.

"One last thing, Lupin," said Burke as Remus made to cross to the exit. It took everything in him to stop and look back at the man.

But whatever Burke intended to say never crossed his squarish lips. Instead, they thinned and his expression soured. Remus heard the door creak, then the tell-tale rhythm of uneven footsteps. He folded up the license and quickly slipped it into his pocket.

"I was supposed to be informed of this meeting," growled Mad-Eye when he reached Remus' side. His feet were squared like a peg-legged bulldog. Despite himself, Remus could feel his heart rate slowing.

"My mistake," Burke replied. His upper lip curled.

"You're on thin ice, Burke," Mad-Eye snapped back. "Don't make your situation worse."

"Gore doesn't care," sneered Burke. "As long as we get the job done."

"I'm not Altair Gore, am I?"

"No, thank Merlin the Head Auror is much more reasonable," Burke replied smoothly. "Excuse me, I have another appointment."

Mad-Eye made a face at Burke's back as he passed him. Then he glared at the remaining Ministry wizards. "Get lost," he barked.

Tate made a quick exit, looking genuinely frightened. But Pyrites seemed unimpressed. He glanced between Remus and Mad-Eye with a blank face, then made his leave. For a second, the only sound was the vulture-like secretary's shuffling with papers. Then, Mad-Eye exhaled noisily and grasped Remus' arm, firmly, but gently, and steered him out of the waiting area.

Neither of them spoke until they reached the lifts. Mad-Eye released his arm and closed the doors, then punched the emergency stop button. An alarm blared, but he silenced it with a jab of his wand.

"Sorry 'bout that," grunted the auror.

"Not your fault," Remus said, detached. He leaned against the elevator wall, taking comfort in the fact that his back was not exposed anymore.

"I knew they were going to drag you in here sooner or later," Mad-Eye continued. "Thought it was scheduled for next week. Damn Burke. Holds a grudge, wouldn't even look at me for weeks after I interrupted your first 'interview.' Must've moved it last minute."

"I'm fine, Moody."

"You're always fine," Moody retorted. "They ask you about Carmichael?"

"Yes."

"Thought they might."

Remus tilted his head against the wall and closed his eyes, feeling exhausted. He had already decided not to tell Mad-Eye about his failed visit to the werewolf pack. Pretending to remain on the outskirts of Mad-Eye's hunt gave him some small sense of control. "Did you learn anything else about him?"

"Talked to Ollivander. The wandmaker does not take apprentices often, but Carmichael was very talented. Said it was a shame. He sent a letter resigning his apprenticeship just a few days ago."

Remus understood the grief-stricken father's need to escape. He rubbed his face with his hands, trying to keep himself alert. "Any connection to Greyback or Voldemort?"

"None. Graduated Hogwarts in '68. Ravenclaw, model student. Was an Unspeakable for several years before developing an interest in wandlore. Presumably he would have known Augustus Rookwood, but I when I asked the Head of Department he said that they were not very friendly. They went to Hogwarts around the same time and there was some bad blood."

"Have you talked to Dumbledore about that?"

"Was supposed to do that today, but something came up."

Remus opened his eyes and studied the auror. "It was me, wasn't it?"

"Never said that," Mad-Eye grumbled. "Gore has me working seven different cases right now. The Minister and the public have got the aurors running on empty to fill every cell in Azkaban. I'm a busy man."

He stumped to the elevator switchboard and turned off the emergency stop and pressed the atrium level. The elevator jolted, then accelerated abruptly upwards and sideways. Remus had to grab one of the handles to keep himself from toppling over.

"Here you are," Mad-Eye said as the elevator careened to a halt in the giant bay attached to the atrium. "I'll walk you out."

The atrium was sparsely populated. The majority of the Ministry employees were off on Boxing Day. Just the truly essential, the workaholics, and the lonely had come in to work. Besides a few muffled conversation, the only sound was the splashing of the Fountain of Magical Brethren in the center, coins glittering in the basin. The golden figures of the centaur, the goblin, and the house-elf looked admiringly at the aurulent splendor of the witch and wizard. Over the years of being summoned to the Ministry to partake in insulting ritual check-ins, Remus had learned to ignore it, but today the figures seemed to follow his progress across the atrium. The blankness of the golden faces reminded him of the wizard from the Wizengamot Administration Service.

"Have you ever met Eurion Pyrites?" he asked Mad-Eye, determinedly keeping his gaze off the Fountain.

"No. Was he your rep?"

"He was from the Wizengamot Administration Service."

"The bloke with the gloves and the briefcase and the superior attitude?"

Remus nodded.

"Looked kind of familiar, but we've never met. Why?"

"He just seemed… unnecessary."

"It's policy to have someone from there present in these kinds of interviews. They like their paperwork."

Remus hummed, trying to quell the lingering discomfort of Pyrites' copper-eyed stare. Across the atrium, the Magical Brethren were still majestically unmoved and splendid. Remus doubted that they were truly made of gold. Fool's gold, perhaps. Or some kind of illusion.

Mad-Eye paused and x-rayed him with both eyes. They'd reached the row of fireplaces. He would floo to an assigned exit portal and apparate to his fire-less flat from there.

"Seriously, Lupin, why are your asking?"

"Just wondering."

"You seemed a little shaken when I arrived. Did he say something?"

"No," Remus lied. He did not need Mad-Eye as his personal guard dog. "Burke was a little rough, that's all. Pyrites just listened."

Mad-Eye did not look convinced, but he let it go. "Fine," he said. "Go home. Get some sleep. Constant vigilance."

Remus rolled his eyes. "Got it," he muttered. Mad-Eye turned to leave him. "And thanks. Again."

"You're welcome."

Then the auror was stomping back across the atrium, a battle-worn figure amidst the pristine tile and falsely golden statues. The other, smartly dressed employees and visitors gave him as wide a berth as they gave Remus. The two of them were too scarred and haunted for the comforting facsimile of order.

" _You lost everything."_

He was starting to understand Mad-Eye's watchfulness. The wizarding world wanted to forget the damage, forget the missing pieces and loose ends. Somehow, standing in the crisp, open cleanliness of the atrium speckled with strangers, this seemed as dangerous as ignoring a venomous snake as it curled around his ankles. The world was closing their eyes out of fear. Moody was a watcher amidst the sleeping masses. And Remus knew instinctively he was damned to be awake the moment Dumbledore knocked on his door in November.

 _I'm still here._

His echoed words had become a resolution. His friends were dead. Or lost. He was still here. So was Harry, so precious and distant.

 _I'm still here._

So was the snake.

* * *

 _April 10, 1986_

Sirius spent another night without sleep, alternating between caffeine highs and crashing on the floor as Padfoot to regain his bearings. Over the week, he made it to the end of Remus' file. The information becoming disturbingly sparse. Remus had traveled, worked, gone through the motions of life. The only warnings were in the last months. Signs that his brother was being followed.

Then suddenly, he was gone.

Crime scene photos depicting it all without mercy, so vivid he could see it.

 _A small flat torn apart._

Sirius shook his head. _Focus._ He felt trapped. In himself, in the past, in the present. Even the homey cottage felt like a cage. Sometimes… even with Harry and the Weasleys… sometimes he was so fucking lonely he could scream.

 _The sound of ceramic shattering._

What if Rita Skeeter was right? What if something had broken in his mind?

 _Spells burned, smelling of smoke and sulphur._

But Harry had wounds too. None so profound as despair, but just as enduring. Every nightmare, every slur from the Dursleys, every day spent unloved. What could Sirius possibly offer him?

 _A spatter on the floorboards, dulled to rust by time._

The day was December 21, 1982. All of the photos were taken four days later. Four days before anyone bothered. Before anyone knew. Sirius rubbed his eyes. His head was pounding fiercely. He'd had a migraine for three days now.

Remus failed to show up for Christmas dinner with his father. By then, the trail was cold. Magic leaves traces and traces fade. Sirius read the notes again and again until they blurred.

One minute here, the next, gone.

There were only two notable clues after that: a body and a wand.

The body appeared at the entrance of Knockturn Alley on New Year's Day. It was Liam Carmichael, the father of Danny Carmichael. His injuries were consistent with a werewolf attack, though the bite marks did not match Fenrir Greyback. Sirius could not help but pause here, heart in his mouth, but there was no further evidence to confirm who killed Carmichael. The mortician's report was severely lacking. It could not even confirm time or cause of death.

The strangest thing about the event was what was found shoved down Carmichael's throat. It was a slip of paper that read: _Seil setiryp. Verum argentum._ There was no translation for the first part, nothing that made sense. The second was Latin: _The truth is silver._

He folded up the picture of the note and shoved it into his pocket.

The wand was mailed personally to Alastor Moody after another month. No note was attached. After thorough examination, it was decided that it was the wand of Remus Lupin. The last spell performed was the spell that killed its owner.

Sirius held the evidence report with clenched fingers until Harry woke. The dawn was turning the thick fog into a frothy lilac, as impenetrable as the words in Carmichael's throat. He needed answers. Today. He clamped down the rest of his racing thoughts and fears and _dementors swarmed him like thieves, taking, taking, taking_ -

 _Stop it._

By the time he and Harry were sitting down for breakfast, Sirius had a plan. He pushed the file and papers aside to make room for their plates of eggs and toast (making sure no disturbing photos were visible). He was already meeting with Rufus Scrimgeour later in the morning, so speaking with Mad-Eye would be easy to do while he was at the Ministry.

"Harry, I'm sorry, I know I promised this meeting would only take an hour, but I think it's going to be a little longer than that. I need Mad-Eye to show me a few things at the Ministry. Do you mind staying with the Weasleys for lunch?"

Harry's eyes snapped to him briefly, then down to his eggs.

"Yeah, okay," he said slowly.

Sirius frowned at him, focusing past his preoccupation and throbbing headache. "Doesn't sound okay. Is something wrong?"

"No," Harry replied. He pushed his eggs with his fork. Was it Sirius' imagination, or did his gaze wander to the disorganized mess of papers on the table?

"Did you have an argument with Ron yesterday?"

"No. I like playing with Ron. We're friends."

Since the twins' birthday, Sirius and Harry had gone to the Burrow often. It was good for Harry to have kids his age to play with. And Molly had infinitely more patience than Sirius when it came to teaching children letters and words. Bizarrely, Sirius enjoyed the challenge of helping Harry learn numbers and shapes, but reading was a whole different story. Of course, Sirius and Molly had their own differences (they'd already gotten into several disagreements), but the arrangement worked. And it helped Sirius feel like he was not stuck in the little cottage all day.

Which was the purpose of his meeting with Scrimgeour in the first place. The Head of the Department had sent a letter earlier in the week as Mad-Eye promised, offering to discuss phasing Sirius back into the auror department. Since their discussion that evening, Sirius had had more time to think. There were plenty of things they would need to work around, like the fact that Sirius was now a single parent, that it had been four and half years since he'd seen any action, that his magic was still rusty on bad days and explosive on others. And there was the question of his old colleagues. Would he have to spend every ounce of energy proving he was mentally sound enough for the job? Would he hate them for letting him rot in prison?

But despite the compensation provided by the Ministry at his release, Sirius would need a job eventually, so this was a start. And Voldemort was still out there…Sirius flashed back to Dumbledore's warning." _It will be a long time before Harry Potter is truly safe."_ Sirius would never be able to rest peacefully with that in his mind. At least as an auror he could be on the front lines…

"Will you be gone for a very long time?"

Sirius' attention snapped back to Harry. His little eyebrows were knitted with something like concern.

"I don't think so. We'll still have time for learning to ride a broom this afternoon, if that's what you're worried about."

"Nothing's worrying me," Harry said, adding a very Sirius-like lift of the shoulder to convey false nonchalance. "I was just wondering."

"Are you sure? I could talk to Mad-Eye tomorrow…" Though his inner desperation for answers screamed at him not to.

"No," Harry said quickly, his eyes wide. "No that's okay."

Sirius raised his eyebrows at his godson. Harry blushed and dropped his attention back down to his plate and shoveled some more eggs into his mouth. He wished there was a book on the inner workings of five-year-olds. Not that he would actually read it, but it would be comforting to know that this was a problem common enough to merit a book. Maybe there really was one. Moony could find it…

If he could find Moony.

After breakfast, their odd conversation drifted to the back of Sirius' mind, overshadowed by two things: Remus' wand and _Seil setiryp. Verum argentum._

What was Carmichael trying to say with his dying breath? He must have known he was going to die and did not have enough time to explain… the strange words had to mean something. _The truth is silver._ If there was a truth, then what was the lie?

The questions followed him through the rest of the morning. He cleared away Remus' file to make room for Harry's shapes coloring book. Harry was quiet as he worked, his bangs falling forward to obscure the lightning bolt on his forehead. Sirius tried not to sigh out loud. Harry needed Lily right now. She always knew what he needed before he could even speak. A godfather was no replacement for a mother. _He_ was no replacement for a mother. Or a father.

Skeeter's article was still stamped on his mind like a brand. Despite Arthur's reassurances, Sirius knew he was not enough. What could a prisoner of Azkaban do for an orphan? He was just as lost, just as unmoored…

" _I would not dare to speculate on Black's current state. He has been through a difficult ordeal and must be given time recover from this trauma."_

Sirius shook his head, mentally cursing Mesmer. What the hell did he know?

After a while, though, he realized he was brooding, and purposely tried to lighten the mood. He tuned back in to Harry counting to fifty.

"Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four-"

"Six! Four hundred!" he interrupted suddenly.

"T-twenty-five," Harry stuttered through giggles. "Twenty-six, twenty-seven-"

"Fifty million!"

"Twenty-uh… twenty-eight- _Padfoot!_ "

Harry shrieked with laughter, pushing at the large black dog that was licking his face with small hands. Once Sirius had transformed into his animagus form, he and Harry were irreversibly distracted. By the time they had to floo over the Weasleys, both were flushed with running all over the house. Harry's schoolwork was only partially done, but he seemed to have completely forgotten his uncertainties of the morning. And Sirius felt a little lighter, even though his headache was even worse. It wasn't debilitating yet but… he'd ask Molly if she had a migraine solution.

"Oh sweet Merlin, I'm going to be late," he realized when he glanced at his watch, without really caring. The old Sirius Black was never on time. It was comforting to know that at least Azkaban had left some things untouched.

"Man, Ron's going to beat me to finishing his schoolwork," Harry moaned. "Merlin's pants!"

Sirius snorted loudly. Harry told Sirius about how he and Ron were having a contest to see who could finish their schoolwork first. Molly had promised them that they could help make biscuits if they were done by lunchtime.

"Come on, Prongslet, better hurry!"

They swept his things into his yellow backpack, and then Sirius lifted Harry into his arms and they spun away into the green flames. The Burrow was a rush of exhilarating chaos as usual. Harry disappeared into the mass of children almost immediately after giving Sirius a hug goodbye. Sirius stared after him for a moment, then turned at kissed Molly on the cheek.

"Thanks for watching him," he said, suddenly reluctant to leave. He'd never left Harry at the Weasleys' on his own before.

"Not a problem, Sirius," Molly replied, instinctively catching on to his hesitation. "Harry is always welcome here. And Auror Finch is here too, patrolling. Don't worry about us, just focus on your meeting with Scrimgeour."

"I'll try." He rubbed his temples.

"Did you sleep at all last night?" Molly asked shrewdly.

"Yes," Sirius groaned, frustration igniting swiftly. "You don't need to ask me every time-"

"I will until you start telling the truth," she retorted. Sirius winced at the sharp increase in volume. Her eyes narrowed in motherly scrutiny. "You have a headache. Let me get you something."

Well, at least he hadn't had to ask, he sighed inwardly. She bustled to a cabinet that was far out of the reach of little hands. It opened with a flick of her wand and a small vial floated into her outstretched hand.

"Here," she said shortly.

"Thanks." He downed it in one gulp. Blessed relief immediately soaked into his skull. "I'll replenish your stock when I get the chance-"

"It's no trouble, Sirius. And take these with you too." There were three more vials on the counter. One was filled with some thick, gluey looking substance, a second was dark crimson, and the third was larger and swirling indigo. Sirius recognized it as Dreamless Sleep potion. They were sitting next to an opened letter.

"What are they?" Sirius asked suspiciously of the smaller potions.

"The first is for your teeth and the second is a bone density solution," Molly answered. Her eyes glimmered with some sympathy as she said this. "Poppy sent them this morning. She didn't know if the Ministry had provided anything, so took it upon herself to whip these up after visiting last week. She sent them to me because, and I quote, 'You are not to be trusted to take your own medicine.'"

"Yeah, I was always a problem patient," Sirius murmured. Affection for the school nurse rose sudden and warm. He had not bothered to complain about the constant ache of his joints and spine, the fact that chewing anything not cut into tiny pieces sent bursts of agony through his jaw. But Madame Pomfrey seemed to have a sixth sense about ailments and illnesses.

"She says to take the one for your teeth on an empty stomach, so maybe tomorrow morning. And the bone density solution should be taken in combination with a dose of Dreamless Sleep, because it's not a very comfortable process to heal porous bones. As for the rest of the Dreamless Sleep, she says to take as needed, but to space out the doses. It can be highly addictive."

"Yeah." Sirius knew that besides the dose he would take with the bone solution, he would not use it. He slipped the potions into a pocket and charmed them so they wouldn't clink obnoxiously. "That was… very thoughtful of her. I'll have to write and thank her…"

"Well, she said it was the least she could do," Molly said. She smiled at him in a tender way that made him regret his earlier acerbity.

"I'd better go, I'm pretty late as it is," he said. He glanced over her shoulder, hoping to catch one last glimpse of Harry, but his godson was nowhere to be seen.

"Harry's fine," Molly assured him.

"Make sure he eats all of his lunch and-"

"Sirius, do you know me at all?" she asked with a roll of her eyes.

"Right. Okay. Bye Molly."

"Well go on." She pushed him to the back door. "Disapparation point is down the road. You're late already!"

By the time Sirius had made it to the atrium, he was thirty minutes late, which was pretty standard. Back in the day, the only reason he would be on time was if he never left. It was a Thursday, which meant that the enormous chamber was bustling with hundreds of people. Sirius paused just to the right of his arrival point, hunching his shoulders and taking a deep, calming breath. He wished he had his old, long locks to obscure his thin face, but his hair was still short and ragged.

He was in public for the first time since the trial. Skeeter had splattered his name all over the _Daily Prophet_ , along with words like 'trauma' and 'shock' and 'sociopath.' It was time to be Sirius Black: rebel, self-assured, sharp, strong, hero. _Victim._

 _No._

He pulled together a new skin, crafted with arched, aristocratic eyebrows and the perfect, lopsided smirk. His spine straightened into a casual line and his chin tilted so it was parallel with the floor. His coat fell open naturally and he was dressed with his old, careless flare. It wasn't the perfect imitation of the past. Now he was harder, angrier, but he was no less elegant. When he took his first step into the crowd, it projected ease and undimmed confidence.

He was Sirius Black. And he had a skin as hard and magnetic as iron.

Once the whispers and stares started, they seemed to flow out across the atrium like a shockwave. One woman even let out a tiny squeak. Old Sirius probably would have winked at her cheekily, but right now he needed to stay focused. He kept going until he reached the visitors' desk.

The wizard who worked there saw him approach and his eyes twitched a little wider. "M-Mr. Black," he stuttered after clearing his throat.

Sirius placed his fir and dragon heartstring wand on the desk with a grin. "Good morning."

"Er, morning. I don't think you have to check in-"

"I'm a visitor, aren't I?" Sirius asked, taking control of the conversation. "I presume they fired me rather enthusiastically when they tossed me into Azkaban."

The wizard flinched, trying hold together his professional demeanor. "Really, I'm not sure it's necessary-"

"Bloody hell Black, can't you be on time for once in your life?" barked a gruff voice over the whispering crowd.

"Can't help it, Mad-Eye. Besides, I can give at least seven concrete examples of my own promptness, rendering your question null."

 _Merlin, that was a very Moony-like thing to say…_

Mad-Eye was thumping towards him, bristling. Sirius had never been happier to see the bad-tempered auror. His appearance seemed to shatter the tension and the crowd started resuming their own routines, especially when Sirius' response seemed good-natured and logical.

"I hope Scrimgeour isn't waiting," Sirius said, once Mad-Eye had reached him.

"No. He only told you eleven because he knew you wouldn't be here until half-past. And you don't have to check in." He snatched Sirius' wand from the visitor desk and shoved it into his hand. "Come on."

Sirius and Mad-Eye left the speechless wizard at the visitor desk and went to the main bay of elevators. The crowd parted before them like water. The few people who joined them in the elevator stayed dead silent.

"After meeting with Scrimgeour, I'd like to ask you a few things," Sirius said.

"About our mutual friend?"

"Yeah."

"Thought you'd never ask."

"I finished your file. I want to see the evidence."

Mad-Eye rose a brow. Sirius noticed it was bisected by a silvery scar, one that wasn't there before he went to prison. "Fine. And I'm coming with you to Scrimgeour's."

Sirius looked at him sharply.

"As an advocate, Black, not a bloody guard dog. Aurors don't make diagnoses based on bad reporting. Skeeter wouldn't know sanity if it was dancing in front of her stark naked." He said this last part rather loudly, causing the other occupants of the elevator to shift uncomfortably.

"How many sane people have you known to do a jig naked?" Sirius asked, feeling the corners of his mouth lift.

"You'd be surprised," Mad-Eye grumbled.

The elevator dinged and they got off, leaving a group of red-faced witches and wizards behind. The lobby of the auror office was decorated with ebony floors and arches of veined marble. A receptionist was off to the side, dictating fluidly to a quick-quotes quill. The wall directly opposite the elevator was completely blank, except for rows of names etched into the stone. The names of the fallen. James would be on that wall. Sirius looked away.

Hallways branched off in two directions. To the left were temporary holding cells and interrogation chambers, all black tile and brass. To the right was where the black and metal ended. The tiles gave way to neutral colors and worn flagstones. They entered a large bullpen filled with desks, flying paper, interns, and aurors. Glass-paned conference rooms ran along one wall, the windows displaying meeting times. A huge map of the British Isles glowed with markers on another wall. The rest were offices and hallways that wound into break-rooms and an infirmary. It was a hive of activity and drama on a daily basis.

But the volume and action immediately ceased the moment Sirius walked in. By comparison, it was almost like a church in its stillness. Sirius froze on instinct, his breath catching. Seconds ticked by, eyes fixing him in place…

Then, at one of the corner desks, Nelson Hapley stood, drawing his wand arm across his chest then straight against his side. An auror's salute. He stared fiercely at Sirius. One by one, the other aurors and trainees copied the motion until every person was standing silently. Sirius felt something hard build in his throat. The solemn salute was an honor granted by the tight community of aurors to the fallen, to the heroic wounded, to those who sacrificed everything to protect and serve.

There were a lot of memories here. Some good and some bad. Many tangled with the horrors of the war. There were people here he'd fought with, people he'd rescued, some who'd rescued him. People he'd never met, fresh trainees, innocent interns. And there were people who'd snapped his wand, tightened manacles over his wrists, coldly glared as he was taken away. Who had passed him into the dead hands of the dementors without a doubt in their minds.

Sirius had expected awkwardness and tension and hurt and anger.

But they all stood. No excuses, only remorse. And recognition. It was overwhelming. They moved around his skin of iron, straight inside.

"Mr. Black."

Sirius dragged his eyes to Scrimgeour, who had emerged from the Head Auror office. The other man held his gaze for a few moments. He was seven years Sirius' senior, already one of the top aurors when he and James started. A natural leader, level-headed, rational, and experienced. He was appointed as Head Auror barely a month before Sirius' release. A quick scan showed a few lighter hairs in his lion's mane and a few deeper lines on his stern face.

"Come in, we have a lot to discuss," he said gravely. Then he surveyed the department and his eyebrow twitched with pride. "At ease, aurors."

The atmosphere swirled and shifted as everyone resumed their duties quietly. Sirius swallowed heavily and walked through the door that was held open for him. Scrimgeour let Mad-Eye pass, then the door was closed behind them. Sirius waited for the Head Auror to sit before he copied the action, Mad-Eye taking up a standing position to the side.

"As you can see, Sirius, you would be welcomed back here," Scrimgeour said. His voice was more gravelly than Sirius remembered.

"Yes, sir," Sirius answered. His own voice was hoarse from the stone still lodged above his vocal chords.

"You were surprised," Scrimgeour observed.

"I…" Sirius started, searching for the right words. "Trust is hard to build again. Even if it was never actually broken in the first place." He thought of Remus as he said this, thinking of all the times he hated himself for not trusting him. And all the time he hated Remus for leaving him in Azkaban alone…

"You have their respect and mine," Scrimgeour replied. "And gained a little more besides. You survived an agony few would understand."

Sirius remained unspeaking, filtering through his own doubts, gripping his hands in his lap. _And there we have it. Black is either traumatized or bordering on sociopathic-_

"That makes you strong, despite what some may conclude." Scrimgeour was watching him carefully with his yellow, cat-like eyes. "So I am willing to reinstate you, if you choose to forgive our past misdeeds. But not right away."

Sirius had expected that. "What do I need to do?"

"There will be a probationary period. Old skills need to be polished up, dueling and potions and such. You'll need to complete a new physical exam, and a psychological one. Purely routine," Scrimgeour assured him. "It's your physical health I'm more concerned about…"

"I'm being taken care of," Sirius replied quickly, thinking of the potions in his pocket and the new friendship he had developed with the Weasleys. And the old ones that had survived the years.

"That's good, then," Scrimgeour said, sounding both relieved and apologetic. "You won't need to retake the written exam, however you will have to engage and win in three mock duel scenarios before you can be officially brought back. And the timeline on this is fairly fluid. You don't have to do this until you're ready."

Every instinct in Sirius was to rush ahead. He had been cramped and sitting for far too long. But there were other things to think about. Harry being his first and highest priority. "I might take it slow," Sirius admitted, keeping his voice firm, not wanting it to be taken as weakness. "I'm… going through a few adjustments."

"Of course."

"And once I officially have my job back, I'll need to be part time, at least at first," he told Scrimgeour, watching his reaction. There was none. So he continued with a dab of sarcasm, "I don't know if you've heard, but I'm Harry Potter's legal guardian now. While I'm not crazy, I'm new to being a parent. If I'm to be there for Harry, I need to limit my caseload."

"Done," Scrimgeour said easily, handing him a few papers. "Here's a list of required knowledge, separated into spells, potions, tracking and disguise skills, and healing. This also has an updated overview of the current political climate, as well as wanted dark wizards. You'll probably recognize a few names."

"Probably," Sirius muttered bitterly, folding up the pages.

"We can start brushing up on your duelling and fitness," Mad-Eye suggested from where he stood. "That field by your house is a good place to practice."

"Harry will be thrilled," Sirius commented dryly. Lately, Harry had been asking for more and more demonstrations of magic, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"I'm sure."

There was a pause as the conversation tapered to a natural end. Sirius looked to Scrimgeour to see if there was anything else.

"Sirius," murmured the tawny-haired wizard, and halted, his brow furrowed. He was searching for the right thing to say, and Sirius waited. "There were several moments that day that anyone in this office could have spoken up, could have used reason instead of emotion. No one did. That is on us."

Sirius swallowed heavily and did not deny it. Scrimgeour did not seem to be expecting forgiveness either.

"You're certain you want to return?"

No, honestly he wasn't. But he was not certain of anything anymore. It would do no good to lie to Scrimgeour, so he simply said, "I think I will be."

Scrimgeour considered him, then said, "I'm glad."

He opened the top drawer in his desk and drew out a battered badge. It was his old one, silvery scratches standing out against the tarnished surface. Sirius took it delicately. A new thought was occurring to him.

"Do you have James'?" he asked softly.

"Yes. It's on a plaque in the bullpen, but you may take it if you wish. I'm sure young Mr. Potter would like to have it."

"He would."

Harry had too few things from his parents besides the gold locked in Gringotts. If only he could find the lost pictures, the ones he suspected Remus had at some point after he went to Azkaban.

"You're free to go, Mr. Black," Scrimgeour said then, standing and holding out his hand. Sirius took it in his own wasted one and shook.

"Thank you, sir," he said.

The trip through the bullpen was less solemn than before, but the volume was still hushed. Sirius nodded at Nelson, then went and reverently removed James' badge from the wall. No one stopped him as he slipped this into a coat pocket and walked away, hearing the rhythmic thunking of Mad-Eye's metal foot behind him.

Silently, they made their way to the evidence warehouse. It was a heavily guarded chamber a floor above the courtrooms. Sirius suppressed a shudder as the elevator approached close to that place where he'd last felt the dementors' influence. Only aurors, members of the Wizengamot, and specialty clerks had access to evidence. Everything had to be checked in and out with the magical law enforcement officer on duty. Layers of curses and spells kept unauthorized persons from removing any evidence. Since Sirius was not yet reinstated as an auror, this included him.

Off the grungy entrance lobby were several rooms for examining evidence. Sirius paused outside of one while Mad-Eye stumped to the window, where a surly officer handing a steel evidence box to another visitor. Sirius distracted himself by watching their exchange as Mad-Eye tapped his foot impatiently.

"Sign here," instructed the officer in a bored voice. "Signature states that you will be the one handling evidence, and acts as a binding contract. If you tamper with evidence in any way, you will experience consequences in the form of a painful rash all over the body and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement will be notified."

The other visitor took the black quill in his hand to sign. Sirius' chin twitched up in recognition. The hand was covered with a white glove. The material was like silk, shimmering in the pale light. He was the man at Sirius' trial.

The man turned and saw Sirius and Mad-Eye waiting. His face registered nothing. No emotion, no surprise. A blank canvas. After a brief second, he chose to paint it with a small smile.

"Auror Moody, Mr. Black," he greeted smoothly. "A pleasure to see you outside of the courtroom. I was there, I don't know if you remember…"

"I do," Sirius said.

"Eurion Pyrites is a new member of the Wizengamot," Mad-Eye told him. He eyed the other wizard with distaste.

"Yes," Pyrites said quietly, studying Sirius with his strange, pale eyes, unruffled by the large auror. "It was an honor to serve at your trial."

Sirius could not remember if he saw the gloved hand among those voting for his innocence. For a brief moment of Pyrites looked between Sirius and Mad-Eye. Then he gave them a small bow of the head and said, "Well I'd better take my leave. I have a busy day."

Then he turned and left, Ministry robes swirling behind him, evidence box in hand.

"You don't like him," Sirius observed immediately to Mad-Eye.

"No," Mad-Eye answered, blunt as usual. "Rubs me the wrong way." He looked like he wanted to say more, but exhaled noisily through his nose and cocked his head towards an the examination rooms. "Go on. I'll be right in."

Sirius made a face, but stepped through the door on his left. The room was windowless, but well-lit. A stainless steel table in the center was flanked by two chairs. The environment was sterilized by some tricky charmwork. The cold, antiseptic chamber heightened the gravity of what this evidence meant. Sirius paced, his hands beginning to feel clammy and cold. Denial and dread pinged around his skull, making it harder to focus.

 _You know we'll never leave-_

Anxiety was separating his surety from the rest of himself. Dissolving it…

"Here it is," Mad-Eye announced softly. Sirius' gaze snapped to him, to the large black box in his hands. The beady human eye bespoke understanding. He closed the door with a gentle click then set the box onto the table without a sound. With a small silver key, he unlocked it and lifted the lid. Then he drew out two separate, smaller boxes, one long and slender, the other large enough to contain several pieces of evidence.

"Which do you want to start with?"

Sirius cleared his throat. Baby steps. "The evidence found where Carmichael was murdered."

Mad-Eye opened it. There were several evidence bags lined up inside, mostly containing samples of cloth, hair, and other items. But Mad-Eye already knew what Sirius wanted to see, so he removed the last bag and flattened it on the table.

Through the plastic, Sirius read the note: _Seil setiryp. Verum argentum._ The photo he had in his pocket was black and white, while the real thing was blotchy with dried blood. It looked like rust on skin. The hand that wrote it was shaking badly.

"And you still don't know what it means?" Sirius murmured.

"Besides 'The truth is silver,' no," Mad-Eye replied. "We tried saying the words like a spell, but nothing happened. That could mean anything though, wand movement wasn't working, wrong timing, wrong intention, pronunciation off…"

"Damn."

"Yeah."

Sirius picked up the note, weighing it in his hand. It was light as a feather.

"Why include this as part of your investigation into Remus' disappearance?"

"Gut instinct. The cases were intertwined already," Mad-Eye replied tiredly. "Too many coincidences. After the Longbottoms, the murder of Carmichael's son caught my attention. And Lupin's too because of his connection to Greyback. Carmichael was starting to become a puzzle piece that refused to fit, then suddenly he was dead."

"You were following a trail," Sirius mumbled, replacing the note alongside the rows of plastic bags. "Did it… Does the connection have anything to do with the way Carmichael died?" Sirius asked, referring to the clear scratches and bite wounds on the wandmaker's body.

"I can't pretend that was not a factor," Moody answered delicately. "Nor can I confirm that that was the cause of death."

An uncomfortable silence followed, neither wizard daring to voice the condemning possibilities aloud. Sirius prayed that what happened to Carmichael was anything other than the obvious conclusion.

"I was sent this the following month," Mad-Eye said suddenly.

Sirius swallowed roughly. Mad-Eye's scarred hands lifted the slender box. It was not polished wood like the one Dumbledore had presented at his trial. It was standard Ministry issue, plain black cardboard. "Artifact 1-c, cypress, unicorn, 10 ¼ in," was scrawled in silver marker across the lid. Mad-Eye offered it to him and he opened it, detached from his body.

The wand lay docile on crinkled, dusty tissue. Sirius did not touch it for a long time. Every line in the wood grain was familiar, the rippled handle, the rounded base, the way the taper darkened. Then, finally, he brushed it with a finger. It was cool to the touch.

Sirius knew what would happen when he performed the spell. He'd done it before. The shadow of the killing curse looked like its victim. Mad-Eye was watching with both eyes.

"What… what will he do?"

"He never speaks," the auror said gruffly. "Do you want me to do it?"

"No. No I need to…"

He lifted it then, closing his palm around the handle. There was something very private about another wizard's wand. Intimate. To perform magic with it seemed like an invasion. The wand responded to him, though distantly, not like his own. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Sirius opened his mouth and said, "Prior incantato."

At first, his heart pounding in his ears, Sirius thought it had not worked. The wand stuttered, hesitated. But then, from the tip, bloomed a ghostly apparition of Remus Lupin. Sirius felt the air hiss from his lungs with terrible confirmation. He was nearly exactly as Sirius remembered him. His hair was slightly messy, his clothing poor. He looked very tired.

 _Not real,_ Sirius told himself. An impression. An echo.

He landed without a sound and took in his surroundings. His eyes passed over Mad-Eye and he smiled softly. Then they reached Sirius.

The echo's expression shifted, dimmed.

"Moony," Sirius heard himself whisper. _He's not real,_ though his heart felt like breaking.

The echo did not say a word, but stared at him until he began to dissolve into nothingness. Remus was gone.

* * *

 **a/n: ...cliffhanger? maybe? The plot is advancing, so let me know what you think! (Also, as usual, this could have some grammar/spelling mistakes, so I'd appreciate some helpful notes if you noticed anything)**


	10. Kindness, Cruelty

**Hi there! I enjoyed reading everyone's reviews for the last chapter. Some of you clever people figured out part of the clue. Yay! But that's just the easy piece ;). Stay tuned for more to come!**

 **Anyway, I wanted to post today for multiple reasons: 1) because I'm not going to have too much time in the next few weeks, so it was either post now or two weeks from now :/, and 2) because today (March 25) marks one year since I joined the ff community (I was always a reader and writer, just never brave enough to publish). So thank you all for a wonderful year, from the first chapter of _BWF_ to now. Shameless plug: If you like this story and haven't read _Before We Fall,_ you should go read it because it's my first novel-length work and near and dear to my heart. **

**Without further ado, I present to you Chapter 10.**

 **-Cat**

* * *

Chapter 10

Kindness/Cruelty

 _January 6, 1982_

 _..._

 _October 22, 1981_

 _Dear Moony,_

 _I hope you haven't died or anything, because we haven't heard from you in ages! Anyway, I'm at James' place right now. Harry's figured out that broom I got him for his birthday and spent the afternoon zooming around the living room. It's absolutely brilliant! He nearly killed Wormy. Lily is caught between hating me and amazement that he took to it so fast (I mean… he's only 15 months for Merlin's sake!). But James loves it. His son learning to fly instead of walk. He's been preening and showing off all day. Honestly, if his head inflates any more-_

 _Remus, this is James. Don't listen to a single thing he-_

 _Fuck off Pron-_

 _Language Padfoot, what would our dear professor say-_

 _FUUU-_

 _He only said those things cuz I was reading over his shoul-_

 _..._

 _I fought him off (Lily did). Actually, everyone's gone to bed now, so no more interruptions-_

The rest of the ink blurred. Remus folded the elegant, careless scrawl away and slipped the letter back into its envelope with shaking fingers. He could never finish it.

God, he missed James. He missed his bright laughter, his advice, his uncompromising friendship. And Peter. Peter's shy comfort, his perfectly brewed tea, his easy companionship. Their presence in the letter was so casual it _hurt._

Why hadn't Sirius sent it?

Remus had not received any letters from Sirius during that last October. It had almost been a comfort, that the man must have started pulling away. That maybe the lying became too much. The load of guilt, too heavy.

But this unsent letter. So innocent and so _Sirius_. It was too close to the reality he thought he had… verisimilitude was painful. Because it was not the truth.

Remus tucked the envelop into his coat pocket. The rest of his things were in a patched bag squashed snugly between him and the end of the booth where sat. It was mostly books and ragged clothes. Toiletries. A few miniaturized kitchen necessities. And Sirius' _Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six._ As of December, he was officially homeless.

After the meeting with Burke, Tate, and Pyrites at the Ministry, he had returned home to an eviction notice taped to the door. He had not liked the Hackney flat anyway. But at least it had walls. And a roof.

The barman at the Leaky Cauldron was kind enough to let him camp out in this corner booth a few days a week. The interior of the bar was dim and smoke swirled on the ceiling, but at least it was warm. Remus sat back in the shadows, watching the traffic of witches and wizards making their way to and from Diagon Alley. It was perplexing, almost. As if he was on a different plane of reality, just slightly out of sync with the rest of the world. Every time the door opened, allowing a blast of frozen air to sweep the lobby, his eyes would flick up to watch the stranger enter. A creature of some alternate dimension, living life as if everything were normal. Entirely separate from Remus.

He glanced at a clock and saw that it was nearly five in the evening. He would have to leave soon. Outside the temperatures were dipping down to bitter cold, forcing him to either keep moving (and lose sleep) or take refuge in the forgotten tunnels of the London underground. There, among damp shadows and graffiti he would huddle around burning barrels with his fellow vagrant werewolves. It was an urban pack he'd visited in the summer months, made up of drifters and outcasts more adapted to city life than the rugged country. Transients were common, and Remus went unnoticed in their midst.

But sleeping was difficult in the tunnels, where voices echoed and trains screeched and anyone could decide they liked your bag better than theirs. He stayed anyway, since the steam and electricity provided some warmth. And Remus could not help but listen for news of Greyback, wonder if the hulking male would show up one day, looking for more followers or scrawny victims to bully. Or perhaps shadowed by the eluxive Death Eater Mad-Eye was fixated on.

So far, he'd heard and seen nothing.

Dispirited, he scanned his collection of 'help wanted' ads spread on the table. The two possible jobs he had told his dad about were obsolete with the new employment license. Just a glance at it, and both employers had kicked him out of their businesses with gusto. His father's friend's offer was starting to sound more tempting. What was the name? ... _Clausius Evaltas._ Scrubbing his exhaustion from his eyes, he swiped the ads into a pile and folded them haphazardly. He would continue this tomorrow.

Instead he pulled out his old moleskine notebook. Remus had never been one to journal intensely, but during the last year of the war, his job as a spy for Dumbledore required more detailed observations than he could remember all at once. The entries went back to the end of 1979, then stopped on October 30, 1981. Remus quickly flipped the page over.

He had added a few things since then. Two small lists, the first of Death Eaters: _Rosier (d), Rookwood (p), Lestranges (p), Crouch Jr. (p), Greyback, Unknown._ The second: _Frank, Alice, Danny Carmichael._

Leaning back into the uncomfortable wooden bench, Remus stared down at the name until his eyes itched. _Danny Carmichael._ Son of Ollivander's apprentice. _Had Mad-Eye spoken with Dumbledore about the connection between Carmichael and Rookwood yet?_ He scrubbed his eyes. He had received no contact from the auror since their talk in the Ministry elevator. Sleep deprivation was making it hard to concentrate… His eyes slipped close…

"Remus? Is that you?"

Remus startled awake. No one had recognized him in the Leaky Cauldron before and the sudden breach of his anonymity sent his hand jerking for his wand. Through a haze of exhaustion, he focus on a tall, slender figure beside his corner table. There was no mistaking that severe set of mouth and the stern gaze.

"I-Professor?" he managed, quickly stowing his wand and standing. His aching bones protested and his head swam alarmingly. He was more tired than he thought.

"You're not my student anymore, Remus. Call me Minerva." The lines around her mouth tightened as she surveyed his patched clothes, his satchel of belongings, his stack of wanted ads. Remus felt his cheeks warm. Desperately, he cast about for something to say, anything to take the attention away from himself.

"How are you?"

 _Lame._

"I am well. Yourself?"

"Fine," he lied. "What are you doing at the Leaky Cauldron?"

She pursed her lips at his obvious evasion, but answered anyway. "The next term starts soon. I was just passing through to Diagon Alley to replenish a few of my personal supplies. And yourself?" she asked shrewdly.

"I'm just…" But the casual excuse caught in his throat and he couldn't finish. Because this woman _knew_ him. And something about that was tearing down his defenses. It had been far too long since he had last been known. His hesitation stretched into an awkward pause.

"I thought I might get something to eat," said Minerva suddenly. "Would you let me buy you dinner?" Her stern green eyes had softened and he could barely summon his pride to refuse.

"You don't need to, I-"

"Please, Remus," she interrupted gently. "It is my pleasure. Think of it as a late Christmas gift."

His stomach had been empty for so long, he could not remember his last full meal. He found himself nodding and sinking down into his seat, legs feeling weak. Time blurred, and suddenly there were two bowls of hearty beef stew on the table, Minerva seated across from him. Her presence was the only thing that kept him from inhaling the stew in under two seconds.

She let him eat, telling small anecdotes about Hogwarts, telling him about Hagrid's baby unicorns, about the first year Gryffindors, her growing irritation with Sybill Trelawney. It was soothing, eating small bites of hot, savory stew and just listening for once. No spinning magical eye, no pointed questions, no pitying stares. He learned that she was improving her lesson plans for the third years, her plan of action for the final stretch before the fifth years' O.W.L.s, that she was worried about a fourth year Slytherin who had become very withdrawn as winter break approached. Without even realizing it, he found himself asking questions and offering opinions. It was not until a discussion of different teaching philosophies waned to a natural end that he realized his stew was gone. And though his grief ran as a constant undercurrent, it remained a soft hum below his other thoughts, unintrusive. It acted as a guide, lacing memories of Hogwarts with a wash of loss, becoming something closer to wisdom.

"Thank you," he said quietly, only partially referring to the stew.

"You're welcome," Minerva replied. She gave him a searching stare, her lips turning upwards in a sad little smile. "How are you really?"

Remus let his breath out slowly, feeling his chest deflate. _How was he?_ There were too many answers to such a simple question. He stared around the people in the Leaky Cauldron, eating and drinking, laughing at jokes and bantering with each other. A few on the fringes sat alone, like he had until Minerva appeared. The separation from the rest of the world yawned wide as a chasm.

"I'm… not fine."

She said nothing and he couldn't look at her.

"This is how it was supposed to be," he continued, speaking roughly to his hands. "But I never thought it would hurt like this."

"What do you mean?" she asked. Even in the noise of the tavern, her hushed voice carried to him.

He picked at a splinter in the table. "Before Dumbledore came to my house a decade ago I thought… this is how it would be. I'd be separate from everyone else, just doing my best to survive. I made peace with that as a child. So… why does surviving feel like a curse?"

Minerva did not speak for a long time. Then, her veined hand was on his cold ones. "You were deeply loved by your friends, Remus. And you cared deeply for them. I can't tell you why you survived, but you must have some part to play."

"I don't want it," he murmured bitterly.

"Sometimes we don't get to choose the sacrifices we make. Those are usually the hardest to bear." There was something in her voice that spoke of many heavy things unchosen. She squeezed his hand tenderly and released it.

He swallowed down the hard knot in his throat. "You should probably go before the shops start to close."

"I should," she agreed, standing and donning her coat. But she gave him a long stare. Her expression sharpened from motherly into the old Professor that he was familiar with. "No more ignoring my letters, Remus. I know you got them, Alastor told me."

"Right." Remus flushed. "I'll try."

"You'll do better than that," she instructed, but there was humor in her tone. "I want to hear more of your ideas about healing House divisions. And I could use a second opinion on new teaching strategies for my fifth years."

"Of course," he promised, mood lightening.

"Take care of yourself, Remus," she said. "I'm no optimist by any stretch of the imagination, but things will get better."

"Thank you. For dinner and for… the chat."

She inclined her head regally, then wove through the tables to the back exit. He amused himself by watching how the crowd seemed to part before her. Then, when she had disappeared, he gathered his things. Dread of the bitter cold that awaited him outside resurfaced.

The crowd did not part before him. Rather, they did not see him, as he had mastered the art of passing unseen. Still, as he reached the door, a voice called, "Ey! You! Er...Lupus!"

Remus turned, eyebrows contracting, to see the barman waving him over.

"It's Lupin, actually," he corrected in a low voice once he was close enough.

"Lupin then," the barman huffed. He was brusquely wiping down glasses with a rag, while another one cleaned the counter of its own accord. "You've a room for the night."

He tossed a key, which Remus caught instinctively before he could process the statement.

"I… what?"

"Room 417. Courtesy of yer friend, the Professor."

Remus could feel his mouth working without making a sound. The barman rolled his eyes and said gruffly, "You're looking pretty rough there, fella. She did ya a favor. Take a shower. Get some sleep. M'name's Tom if ya need anything."

Before he could protest, Tom had turned away from him to serve the new flood of customers spilling in for the evening hours. Remus stood quite still in shock, patrons jostling him. Eventually, he found himself ascending the creaking stairs into the dim, fourth floor hallway. His room was small and humble, containing a simple twin-sized bed and a worn rug. A washroom branched off the side.

His eyes burned. He blinked hard and fell into an old, almost forgotten routine of normal life. He washed in actual warm water instead of magic. He went through his meager belongings and washed these too. His joints began to ache, but with the pain of release rather than cold. When he sank onto the mattress, he realized he had not slept in an actual bed since the sterile ironwork pallet in St. Mungo's. It sank around him graciously, an unimaginable kindness on his battered body. Weariness fuzzed his thoughts, but he forced himself to stay awake. The privacy of the hotel room was too precious to waste.

From his bag, he painstakingly unburied Sirius' book. _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six._ He brushed the cover, the rough spots of ink stains, doodled by Sirius' hand. Under the title, James' spiky handwriting said "Marauders Forever." Sirius' elegant scrawl had written in parentheses, "brothers forever." And Peter had drawn a small motif of a stag, a dog, a wolf, and a rat.

Remus placed his hand over the relic of Hogwarts and murmured, "I solemnly swear." There was a tiny click from inside the book, then the cover opened to show the contents. He placed a trembling hand over his mouth and used the other to touch every item.

It was a long time before he allowed sleep to claim him. When he finally succombed, he dreamed of the past.

* * *

 _April 10, 1986_

At first, Sirius could not go back to the Burrow. At the Burrow, there was light and beautiful chaos and joy and he was breaking, breaking, breaking. Harry could not see him break.

The journey through the Ministry was a blur. Once Remus had faded away, Mad-Eye gave him some space. Who knows how long. Then he guided him to the elevators with an unusual gentleness. Once on the elevator, Mad-Eye muttered, "Keep it together until you're home. Don't let them see, because not a fucker in here will understand."

This penetrated the fog, becoming a solitary resolution. Once more, he willed back the iron skin. He was Sirius Black. By the time they reached the atrium, he was the same man who entered. On the outside.

 _Come on, Padfoot,_ whispered James, like he used to when they were teenagers. _Don't fall apart on me, kay?_

"If I don't hear from you or Molly in an hour, I'm coming over," Mad-Eye said, instead of questions or good-bye.

Sirius nodded numbly, grateful that Mad-Eye was letting him continue alone. He did not remember the crossing from the elevators to the network of fireplaces, but he was not concerned. He knew his mask was perfect. Decades of practice made it that way. It reacted like a well-oiled machine, regardless of what was happening on the inside.

When he made it home, there was no one there. Even the usual auror guard was at the Burrow, watching Harry. He was completely alone. Breathing heavily through his nose, he crossed into the shell of protective spells. The grass was fine and green, the field awash with tiny white and azure flowers like stars. The cottage was dark and empty.

He halted abruptly. He couldn't go in. His hands were shaking. Suddenly it was all rising like vomit, despite his desperate attempts to clamp it down. The endless night of Azkaban, every second forced awake, Remus' ghostly, accusing gaze staring, staring, staring-

 _He straightened James' glasses, then forced himself to continue._

 _Lily's eyes were glass._

" _Lily and James, Sirius, how could you?!"_

 _Insane laughter._ His _laughter._

" _I hate you!"_

 _And instead of the young teenage Remus, it was an older version. Hurt and battered and so, so tired. But then a green flash of light and he crumbled like a lifeless doll._

A roar erupted from Sirius throat, ripping through the fields, sending crows cawing madly from the grove of trees. Heat blistered on his fingers, flashing bright and bold and angry.

" _Remus isn't coming, Sirius."_

Still those words burned. As fresh and raw as Halloween five years ago because _hell_ he'd never been allowed to grieve, to learn to live without. Hatred of the Ministry bubbled molten once more, hatred of Voldemort wherever the hell he was hiding, hatred of himself for fooling himself into thinking that Remus couldn't be dead-

" _-is not gone."_

Finally he paused. He was on his knees. His chest was heaving. Smoke billowed into his face, stinging his eyes, sputtering with sparks.

 _Shit._

It had been a long time since he'd done any accidental magic, though it always tended to be explosive, a massive pressure release. With rising resignation, he stared at the fire he'd created, crackling through the young grass in long abrasions.

There was a _crack_ of someone apparating and-unsurprisingly-Mad-Eye strode up beside him. He had probably been alerted to danger proximal to the cottage.

"Bloody hell, Black," he muttered over the snapping of flames in the wind flames. " _Aguamenti!_ "

The flames hissed and steam billowed up into the air. Somehow, this got Sirius standing. His wand arm started to move and he joined Mad-Eye in putting out his little fires. It was nearly therapeutic, though the whole symbolism of the thing was nauseating. Still, Sirius felt like a small valve had been opened, relieving some of the long years of pent up storm. His heavy breathing slowed to a calmer rhythm.

Finally, the last flame was extinguished, leaving the grass jet black, fluffy ash blowing playfully in the wind. Mad-Eye, for once, seemed completely lost for words. There was a long silence.

Then Sirius asked, "Do you think Skeeter would call setting fire to things a normal coping mechanism or a symptom of madness?"

Mad-Eye snorted. "Completely mental."

"Barmy," Sirius agreed softly. He slipped his hands into his pockets, feeling the collection of items he'd gathered there. Potions to heal his body from neglect. Badges, one dented and uncared for, the other mounted on a pedestal. A crumbled photograph of a note that, right now, made him sick to think about.

"Black… you've been through alot. Maybe you should consider letting this-"

" _No,_ " Sirius hissed before the suggestion could be finished. "I have to finish this."

"You don't need to torture yourself with this. I don't think it's healthy-"

"How long?" Sirius interrupted, choosing to ignore his mentor.

"How long what?"

"How long did you investigate after you had all of the evidence in that box?"

Mad-Eye watched him stoically while he answered, "Lupin's wand was officially examined on January 26. Gore, then Head of the Department, gave me a week to investigate its origin before he archived the case. That's about five weeks from the date he disappeared."

"He deserved more than five weeks," Sirius snapped.

"Which was why I took the file. I wanted to give more. But Gore was insistent. And…"

"And?"

Mad-Eye eyed Sirius balefully. "You're going to make me say it?"

"Say what?"

Blowing out his breath, Mad-Eye stared out across the fields, beyond the damaged grass in which they stood. The two creases between his eyebrows darkened. "When the investigation into Lupin's disappearance was ended, so was Carmichael's case. Both were mine. I hadn't presented any new evidence on the latter…" His eyes dropped back to the blackened ground underfoot. "I fought for Lupin's case to be extended. But I didn't fight Gore over the wandmaker because… if he was killed by a werewolf… Black, I could not be certain that that werewolf was not Remus Lupin."

"He wouldn't-"

"Not on purpose," Mad-Eye groaned tiredly. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his gnarled thumb. "I know that. And you know that. But… he may not have had a choice in the matter. The wizard responsible for what happened to the Longbottoms and the Carmichaels was cruel. Inhumane. And try as I might to be objective, I couldn't. No one else knew what I suspected about Carmichael's death. So I let Gore end the investigation. I believed… I believed it was the best way to preserve Lupin's memory."

The usually stoic auror looked torn where he stood, holding himself uncertainly. It went against his code to let things pass unchecked. The rare show of humanity was off-balancing. Sirius could think of nothing to say. All he could think of was Remus' pale, teenage face when he realized he had nearly killed a fellow student. _Let this not be on him,_ Sirius prayed. _Please, let this be on someone else._

"Perhaps he deserved more from me," Mad-Eye said suddenly. "Justice. But I did nothing. It seemed more merciful. He was declared dead, Black. I wanted to let the dead be at peace."

"There's no body. Only the spell," Sirius whispered, almost to himself.

"Denial will not help you, Black."

Sirius flinched. Mad-Eye sighed, though he did not seem to regret his bluntness. "I am sorry, Sirius. I'm sorry that things fell apart so badly."

Sirius swallowed hard and stared at the burned grass. The smoke still curled up from the obsidian black streaks across the yard. The more he learned about Remus' disappearance, the more he wondered if he wanted to know how the story ended.

"What are you going to do next?" Mad-Eye asked gruffly.

 _What next?_

He knew what he would have done before Azkaban. He would have gotten sloppy drunk, nursed a debilitating hangover the next day, then plodded on in stubborn denial. One hand slipped back to his pocket, and he gently flattened the creased the photograph. Harry was depending on him to be responsible. To not break down. But… he _needed_ to understand. He needed to be sure. He hated his ignorance. He hated that nothing could be undone, for him, for Harry, for Remus. But maybe… if there was the tiniest chance things could be better, Sirius would take it.

"You're right, it's probably not healthy," Sirius started slowly. "But I can't let it go, so…"

Mad-Eye considered him with both eyes. "Fine," he said eventually. "Then against my better judgement… I'll be here."

"Thanks," Sirius whispered.

* * *

When Sirius flooed to the Burrow, the aroma of baked goods drifted from the kitchen. Molly was busily directing the cleaning like a conductor, the instruments followed her commands like they were musicians themselves.

"Biscuit, Sirius?"

"Yeah, thanks."

He bit into one of the ginger newts, realizing how hungry he was. He had just swallowed when there was a loud pounding from above. Harry came tearing down the stairs seconds later, a wide grin on his face.

"Sirius!"

His tiny body slammed into Sirius' legs with a tight hug. Sirius barked out a laugh and lifted him up easily.

"Miss me?"

"Uh huh."

"Me too, Prongslet." If his eyes were burning a little bit, no one was the wiser. "You ready to do some flying?" he asked, even though he did not quite feel like it.

Harry nodded excitedly. "Ron showed me all their brooms today. He said I could borrow his and you can borrow Mr. Weasley's. Can I go get them?"

"Sure thing kiddo, I'll meet you in the paddock."

Harry raced out the door like a shot. Molly was chuckling. "He's fast, isn't he?"

"I know. Hard to keep up with, sometimes."

"He really did miss you," she added softly. She was staring out at the little black-haired boy disappearing into the broomshed. "He was quieter than usual today."

"Yeah," Sirius said. "I think something is on his mind, but he isn't saying anything."

"He is… unusually reticent for a five-year-old," Molly observed cautiously. She was watching Sirius now, as if readying for a reaction.

"He is." He tried to push back a flare of fury in his gut, mostly directed at the Dursleys and Dumbledore. But there was a little of annoyance with Molly's tiptoeing around him. Honestly, he wasn't going to explode.

"Have you tried talking to him about it?"

"This morning," Sirius said shortly. That morning felt like years ago. Loss was still surging in soul, a million tiny doubts like hailstones, a storm of needing them to be wrong. That whatever he had seen in the evidence room, it was not Remus. It _couldn't_ be. But if it was… he just had to know for sure.

"Sirius. Sirius. _Black._ "

"Yeah, sorry, what?"

"You'll try again, right?" Her arms were crossed over her flowery apron. "You let it go and it could build. Harry doesn't strike me as the forgetting type."

"I know, I'm going to," he sighed. "Maybe after we're done flying."

"If you don't, I will."

"I said I'm going to," Sirius snapped with a rush of irritation. "Sorry," he added brusquely. Molly's eyes had narrowed dangerously. _She's not criticizing you, she's just worried about Harry_. "Rough day."

She softened infinitesimally. "I know you're doing your best, Sirius," she said gently.

This did not help, but he breathed in deeply and blew out the air in a harsh _whoosh._ If only his best were good enough. Enough for Harry, enough for the fucking _Daily Prophet_ , for the Ministry, enough for Remus to just _come home_ …

"Harry'll be waiting," he muttered, trying to push past her to the back yard.

"That boy loves you, Sirius," she said, interrupting his escape. "You're not letting him down by any stretch of the imagination. I don't know what else you're dealing with, but don't add that to your burdens."

Sirius managed a nod. Then went outside, using the stroll to the paddock to compartmentalize, to keep his troubles from seeping into his time with Harry.

His godson was waiting for him, struggling to hold two brooms upright on either side of him and grinning widely. One broom dwarfed the tiny figure, while the other was child-sized.

"You ready, Prongslet?" he called, taking long steps across the meadow.

"Can't wait!" he panted, nearly toppling sideways as the larger broom dipped towards the grass. Sirius quickly relieved him of his burden and set it aside.

Harry practically vibrated with excitement as Sirius explained a basic broom grip and instructed him to stay low to the ground at first (though Molly informed him that she had enchanted all of her younger children's brooms so the maximum altitude was just four meters). He was not sure how much Harry was absorbing, but the kid was a natural when he was just a baby. Sirius was more eager than worried.

"Okay, Prongslet, on the count of three, push off the ground," Sirius instructed, wand out just in case. Harry was clutching the broom handle tightly. "One, two, …three!"

Harry kicked his feet and rose up with a tiny squeak. He floated upwards, his toes skimming the new fronds of grass. Then he went a little higher and tilted the broom handle just right in order to hover.

"I'm doing it!" he shrieked, his expression lighting with pure joy. Then he experimentally leaned to the right and swerved in a large arc across the field, gaining momentum and confidence.

"Haha! I knew you'd love it!" Sirius whooped. Harry looked like James, hair tossed by the wind, cheeks bright pink. Sirius jumped on his borrowed broom and flew out after his godson.

Harry took to flying like a bird. After a few laps of the paddock, Sirius started a game of tag. Harry maneuvered and sped above the ground like he was born for the sky, outstripping Sirius on his little broom. James would have been jealous. And completely overwhelmed with hysterical excitement. He'd always called Harry his quidditch prodigy.

The soaring rush of adrenaline and wind stealing air from his lungs banished everything else for a time. While they were in the air, Sirius could almost imagine that somewhere down there, Lily was laughing and clapping, James was cheering, and Remus was leaning against the enormous elm with a book in his lap and the occasional sarcastic dig at Sirius' flying skills.

Soon, breathless and laughing, Sirius and Harry had fallen off their brooms into the cool combination of old and new flora. The soft earth was sweet-smelling and the damp crept through his shirt, but Sirius did not really care at the moment.

"I wish we could fly all day, every day for the rest of my life!" said Harry throwing his hands up towards the sky.

"You are exactly like your dad," Sirius snorted.

"Aunt Petunia would have screamed," Harry announced with delight. "I bet Dudley would have fallen off and rolled away."

Then he was quiet. Too quiet. Sirius sat up and looked at him, thinking of that odd conversation this morning. Harry was sitting cross legged. He pulled up a handful grass and sorted the green from the brown, avoiding his gaze.

"You don't… miss them do you?" he asked. Because as absurd as it sounded, Sirius understood how you could miss a home filled with bad memories. The loss of Regulus was like a physical wound sometimes.

"No," Harry replied immediately. "Not one bit. I didn't like it there." He tore out another handful of grass and sorted this too, brown on his left knee and green on his right.

"Well," Sirius exhaled, unsure of what to say next. "You don't have to go back."

"Good. I like living with you much better." He still did not look up at Sirius, though. Sirius stared down at the ebony bangs obscure his face, wondering what was going on underneath.

"I like having you with me," he said softly. He thought he saw Harry's cheeks lift with a shy smile. "Harry, I know I've said this, but if there's anything you want to say or ask, no matter what, you can ask me."

Harry finished sorting his second handful of grass, tilting his head thoughtfully. Then he looked up at Sirius, narrowing his eyes as if trying to see something invisible. Sirius forced himself to stay quiet, to let Harry think. But whatever the five-year-old was searching for, Sirius could not tell if he'd found it. He returned to his little piles of grass, picking up the brown one and twisting the blades together.

"Why do those papers make you sad?"

Sirius knew what he was referring to immediately. The Remus file had been out on the table almost every morning when Harry came to breakfast. Then put away only to be taken out again in the evening.

"Do they?" he murmured. He knew that Harry was intuitive, but he had tried, _Merlin_ , he had tried to keep his demons from showing. He'd poured energy into being the perfect godfather: happy, boisterous, fun, adult, whatever Harry needed moment to moment. Not the traumatized ex-criminal of _The Daily Prophet_. Victim of injustice. _Alone._

"You look at them a lot," Harry pointed out.

"It's… a file. I used to be a… a detective, I guess. Except in the magical world we're called aurors."

"Is it a mystery?"

"Yeah," Sirius replied, feeling both melancholy amusement and heartache. The wand's terrible, ghostly truth swam into vision, contemplating him with guarded amber eyes. "I'm… looking for someone."

"Who?"

Harry looked intrigued, his head tilted with curiosity. Sirius searched for the right level of truth for the five-year-old. "Do you remember my friend Remus? I told you about him a few times when I was telling stories about Hogwarts."

"Yeah, he made a snowstorm inside of the castle!" Harry replied, his green eyes bright. "What happened to him?"

 _Everyone says he's dead,_ Sirius mentally responded. _I've seen the evidence with my own eyes. And I'm the fool that can't accept it until I find the bastard that did it._

"He's… he's lost. And I'm trying to find him."

"Oh." Harry was quiet, his expression turning sad. "If Ron got lost, I would try and find him, too."

"Well, you're just like your dad then," Sirius murmured. "If he was here, he'd be helping me find Remus. We were all very good friends. So it's… not very easy. I'm sorry if I've been difficult sometimes. Or distracted."

"That's okay," Harry said softly. "Why did he get lost?"

"Well…" Sirius breathed out. He scanned the rim of gray-green trees outside the paddock, hoping for some kind of inspiration. "Because… because he didn't have a lot of people looking out for him so… he slipped through the cracks."

"Like you look out for me?"

"Like that."

"But…" Harry's brow furrowed. "But… what about his mum and dad? Did they die like mine?"

"No, his dad is still alive..." Sirius trailed away, thinking of James. He fumbled for his pocket, remembering suddenly the silver badge he'd taken from the auror department wall. When he withdrew it, it glinted in the sunlight. Someone had polished it well. Any tarnish was gone and the dents were repaired. Only a small scratch through the middle remained. It was still attached to a humble wooden plaque bearing his friends' name and dates of service. There was a tiny cross superscripted by the date _1981_ , indicating the nature of his death. A sacrifice in the line of duty.

"What's that?" Harry asked curiously. Sirius offered the plaque to him wordlessly and he took it, holding it with both hands and squinting at the words. "J-A-M-E-S P-O-T-Hey, that's my name," Harry realized delightedly. "Potter!"

"That's right, Prongslet," Sirius said. His voice came out a little hoarse.

"What's the first word?"

"Sound out the letters," Sirius instructed in the same gruff rasp.

"J-ams? No… wait. J- _ame_ -s. J-ame-s." Harry's voice tapered away with uncertainty.

"James," Sirius said softly. "It says James Potter, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Auror Division."

"This was my dad's?" Harry whispered. His young fingers brushed the shiny silver surface of the badge with innocent reverence.

"It was," Sirius breathed. He cleared his throat. "He was an auror too."

Harry continued to stare at the badge. Sirius could see the reflection in his bright green eyes like a chip of glass. He sniffed quietly and murmured, "Uncle Vernon said…"

"What did he say?" Sirius asked when he paused. It was the first time that Harry had ever brought up his uncle in conversation without lumping him into the composite of "Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia."

Harry bit his lip. "He said that that my dad didn't have a job. That he was drunk and that's why there was a car crash," he finished in a rush. "I know they didn't die in a car crash now."

Sirius wanted to punch something. He could already feel the tingle of sparks in in the bones of his hands. Only the fact that he was talking to Harry managed to keep the heat contained. (And he'd already burned one yard today. Two would just be excessive). Clenching and unclenching his hands, he said, "Your uncle lied. Your dad was a hero, Harry. Never, ever forget that."

"I won't." Harry's tone was steadier. He swiped a hand across his nose and attempted a smile. "Can I put this in my room?"

"It's yours, Harry. You can do whatever you want with it."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." Sirius smiled warmly at his godson and ruffled his already windswept hair. Together, they put the borrowed brooms back in the broomshed. Sirius took the plaque back for safe-keeping, his mind drifting to a father who was still living. "Is it okay if I do one last thing today, Harry? Before we head home?"

Harry considered it thoughtfully. Meanwhile, Ron and the twins emerged from the back door with a distant explosion of chatter and shouts. They called over to Harry to come and play catch with a quaffle.

"Is it for Remus?" Harry asked.

"It is, Prongslet."

"Then yeah. I think my dad would want you to find him."

"Thanks, Harr. I'll be back in time for dinner."

* * *

Sirius stood at the edge of the familiar forested property, his boots on the gravel road, his hands in his pockets. Through the dark tree trunks he could see the house and its rambling gardens. Hostas and iris were pushing their way up through the fertile soil along the walk. Vines cluttered around bushes laced with young leaves. The weeds had been pulled and branches carefully trimmed. The air was damp and cool, but the late afternoon sun added a dose of warmth.

Old wards shimmered like cobwebs at the edge of the house's clearing. Sirius gripped his wand in his pocket and stretched it tentatively towards them. As soon as his disarming spells met the fluid barrier, a familiar wash of magic lapped at his mind. Moony had helped set these wards, long ago, before everything fell apart. They parted gently, recognizing Sirius, and he stepped through to the home beyond.

He made it three steps into the grassy yard when the front door opened and Lyall Lupin stepped out onto the walk. Sirius paused, painfully aware of how much like his son the older man looked. His hair was completely silver and receding, his eyes cool gray instead of warm brown, but the face... it could have been Remus, older, less scarred perhaps, but more tired. He was wearing a comfortable cardigan and spectacles glittered in his hand, as if he had just left his study.

They stared at each other. Lyall did not appear surprised to see him, but almost... disappointed. Sirius suddenly felt a rush of regret. Maybe coming here was a bad idea…

"Mr. Lupin? I'm sorry I'm visiting unannounced. It's-"

"Sirius Black," Lyall finished softly. The disappointment was morphing into resignation. "I know."

"I wasn't sure if you'd recognize me..."

Lyall chuckled humorlessly. "Azkaban has changed you, certainly, but you are not unrecognizable."

"Right." Sirius chewed his lip, uncharacteristically hesitant. He had met Lyall several times over the Marauders' years at Hogwarts. He had been a kind, quietly studious man, utterly dedicated to his wife and son. But he'd changed, Sirius could see it immediately. Lyall watched him guardedly, his expression brittle, but expectant. "I wasn't really sure if you still lived here..." Sirius said into the silence.

"You thought I might have moved away after everything?" Lyall asked shrewdly.

"Yeah," Sirius confessed quietly.

Lyall inhaled through his nose and surveyed his gardens, absently cleaning his spectacles with the corner of his cardigan. Then he folded them carefully and tucked them into the cardigan pocket, breathing out slowly. "Couldn't leave," he admitted. His lips quirked, so reminiscent of Remus' wry, self-deprecating humor that Sirius had to look away until the expression passed.

"Do you want to come in?"

Sirius got the distinct feeling that he was being invited in out of politeness, not welcome. "Yeah, sure," he said anyway.

He closed the distance between himself and Lyall and stepped into the house. Lyall shut the door and lead Sirius to the kitchen. The house had not changed physically since Sirius was here last, in their Hogwarts days. Sirius recognized Hope's paintings hanging on the walls, endless seascapes bathed in sunlight. The old scratched table was covered with a familiar cloth. But the soul of the place seemed to have fled.

"What can I do for you, Sirius?" Lyall asked. He moved casually, settling himself at the table, but Sirius was not fooled. His auror instincts told him that this was a man who had lost everything, and was fed up with the rest of the world. This would not be an easy conversation. He lowered himself into a chair across from Lyall, studying the guarded eyes, the deep crevasses around his mouth. Then he steeled himself and asked, "Are you still here because you're waiting for him?"

The gray eyes widened in shock at the bluntness. But Lyall recovered quickly. "I buried my son three years ago." There was no mistaking the hardness in his voice.

"I know." Sirius lowered his gaze to his hands. "That was insensitive, I'm sorry."

He said no more, waiting for Lyall's response. Watching him out of the corner of his eye. This was a delicate game. He risked alienating the only remaining family of his missing (dead) brother. But if there was something, _anything,_ that could help him, it would be worth it. It _had_ to be worth it.

Eventually the tension bled out from Lyall's clenched hands. "His coffin is empty," he whispered. Sirius could hear how that hurt him. "I _couldn't_ leave this place."

"I get it," Sirius said quietly. He met the older man's eyes, which had turned dull as lead.

"He visited occasionally, during that last year. It was… hard for him. I hated Moody for a long time after we buried that empty box. He was the one who lead Remus into danger, who asked him into that foolish chase. False leads. Angering the wrong people." He spoke in a monotone, not even a hint of the old resentments. Then he smiled. It didn't reach his leaden eyes. "Then I came to be _grateful_ for that damn bastard. After all, my son had no one left. At least he _tried_. At least my boy spent his last year in the company of someone who saw him as something besides broken. Besides the wolf."

Lyall's breath hitched and so did Sirius'. It was a barb that cut deeply, whether Lyall meant it to or not. Because, at the end of the war, he was one of them, those people who could not see past the wolf.

"I'm sorry," Sirius said again, more to Remus than the older version in front of him.

"No one could have predicted that this would happen," Lyall sighed. That was as close to forgiveness that he was going to give.

They sat in silence, but the tension was now gone, each lost in his own thoughts. Finally, Lyall shifted.

"Is that all you came to say?"

"No," Sirius admitted. "I… I guess if I lived here… I wouldn't leave either."

"I've been waiting here for three and a half years, Sirius." No more wry, Remus-like smiles. Only profound weariness. "If he were coming back from the dead, don't you think he would have by now?"

"Who are you trying to convince?" Sirius replied, not quite looking for an answer.

"I have his things," Lyall said instead of answering. "They're in a box in his old room. You can look through them if you'd like."

"Thank you," Sirius murmured.

He left Lyall in the kitchen and climbed slowly up the creaking stairs. Remus' room was also unchanged. Dying sunlight was filtering through sheer curtains, lighting up dust motes in bright orange. His battered school trunk acted like a window seat beneath the sill. Books were neatly put away on the shelves and others were visible in cardboard boxes. Only two boxes held possessions other than literature. Mugs, a kettle, and kitchenware filled one. The other was snugly packed with Remus' collection of secondhand clothes. Faded jumpers and familiar cardigans spilled over the top. Sirius stepped through the room reverently, reluctant to disturb anything. Instead he just observed, hoping to catch sight of some clue.

Finally, something caught his eye. Tightly squeezed between two unfamiliar titles was one that Sirius recognized. _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six._ But it was not Remus' copy.

It was his.

In a fit of boredom sixth year, he had vandalized the poor book, taking ink and filling in all the negative space in the lettering on the spine. And on the cover was a drawing and a new title sketched by themselves. Heart in his mouth, he snatched the book up.

The following year, he and James took the vandalism a step further. They had hollowed out the inside, enchanting the book so that only the Marauders could open it.

"I solemnly swear…" he whispered to the cover. There was a tiny click, and the cover sprang open.

He swallowed a hardness in his throat. The two-way mirrors that he and James used so often were the first things he saw. He lowered himself onto Remus' bed and removed these, setting them carefully on the bedspread. These were followed by one of James' stolen snitches, fluttering tiredly. A neatly folded drawing; Peter's, Sirius thought grimly. But it showed the Marauders in their school days, laughing together, so he resisted the temptation to crumble it up and toss it out the window.

His missing photographs, all stacked and organized into two piles (blackmail and not-blackmail). Letters. All addressed to him, save one addressed to Remus. The letter he'd written, but never sent, riddled with guilt for suspecting that Remus was the spy. He had cut off any communication with the werewolf after the October moon, wary of what could happen to the information in a spy's hands. Hating himself for thinking so.

Beneath the letters and pictures was a little drawstring pouch, which Sirius set aside without opening. He knew what it contained, little clippings of fur from each of their animagus forms. He blinked back the burning in his eyes, finally reaching some unfamiliar items.

The first was a moleskine journal the size of his palm. A quick flip through the pages revealed notes neatly scrawled in Remus' handwriting. His breathing quickened. The dates towards the end were after October 31, 1981.

Newspaper clippings, carefully stacked together. Sirius recognized the Dark Mark floating in the sky, articles about the capture of various Death Eaters after Voldemort's fall.

But the last item confused him.

A purple box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. And, from the rattling inside when Sirius picked it up, it was still full of candy. Or something else…

He opened the little box and spilled the contents into his hand. Out came six little golden beans, followed by, inexplicably, two empty Droobles wrappers. Sirius dropped the box and flicked through the beans with his finger, vaguely wondering what the flavors were. Buttered popcorn? Butterscotch? Caramel? Or something nasty like boogies?

"What the hell were you saving these for, Moony?" he wondered out loud. Clearly they were important enough to put in the Marauder box. But why?

Sirius pondered until he realized how dark the room had gotten. He started and checked his watch. He needed to return to Harry and the Weasleys soon. Quickly, he packed away the beans and Droobles wrappers, the journal and clippings, and all the little sentimental items and sealed the book. After a brief hesitation, he tucked the book under his arm and descended the stairs with it.

Lyall had moved into the living room where his desk was set up, covered in papers and quills. He was not working, however, and his head snapped up from where it was bowed when Sirius entered.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Lyall asked, his eyes on _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Six._

"Maybe," Sirius answered. "Do you mind if I take this? It's actually mine… Remus would never draw on his books."

"That's fine," Lyall replied, his eyebrows drawn in curiosity. "I know that they had asked him to sort through your possessions, but I thought he had given them all to your Uncle Alphard…"

"Not all, I guess. Thank you, again. I'm sorry if my visit was… uncomfortable."

"I think I understand why you came. I'll see you out."

Lyall pushed himself away from his desk and together they walked back out into the dusky front yard, both checking the sky out of habit. The moonless dome twinkled with stars. It would be the darkest night of April, the new moon rising with the sun in the morning.

"Remus missed you, though he never said it," Lyall murmured. His voice shook ever so slightly.

Sirius was quiet, not trusting himself to speak.

"And he would be happy that Harry moved in with you. He would having given anything to take the child in as his own but… his circumstances…"

"Yeah," Sirius said roughly.

Lyall turned back to the glow spilling from his house. He paused in the doorway and spoke in a measured voice.

"Be careful, Sirius. Hope is a merciless killer."

The door closed with a click, dousing the yard in darkness.

"Only false hope," Sirius intoned to himself. Fiercely, because he needed to believe that. To not dwell on the strange cruelty of that intangible promise. He treaded back into the woods, through the silky, steady wards. Then he set his thoughts on the Burrow and disapparated.

* * *

 **a/n: As promised/foreshadowed, Remus and Minnie got some bonding time! Comment below and I'll see you next time!**


	11. Stand, Fall

**What are you doing Friday night, Cat?**

 **Oh I'll be super busy doing... stuff (*Spends the entire evening/next morning writing fanfiction).**

 **Hope you enjoy this chapter!**

 **-Cat**

* * *

Chapter 11

Stand/Fall

 _January 12, 1982_

Four days after full moon. Remus twisted his torso, trying to adjust the itchiness of his old bandage across his stomach. His mouth still tasted like blood. He'd managed to claw the inside of his cheek. The place was a line of fire, hot and metallic. The exhausted, half-frozen part of himself almost wished that he had not successfully avoided Alastor Moody this month.

After the night spent at Leaky Cauldron, Remus had stayed away from the pub. Minerva would surely report to Dumbledore. Then Moody would know where to look.

It wasn't that he was ungrateful to the grumpy auror for looking after him. But he could not help but expect Mad-Eye to lose interest eventually… to leave him alone like he wanted. And feared. So he needed to survive the moon alone, just to prove he could when the time came.

And he had survived. But for some reason, it did not feel like much of a victory. His body bore more damage from the last three moons than any of the moons from fifth year to Halloween combined. Yes, he'd survived the moon. But he hated that he had to.

The piece of parchment clutched in his hand crinkled under his tightened grip. His fingertips poking through his threadbare gloves were slowly going from red to blue in the cold.

 _Dear Moony,_

Sharp inhale.

" _You know we'll never leave you, right?"_ the wraith of Sirius whispered into his ear. Remus twitched, but kept his eyes glued stubbornly to the letter. He would finish this.

 _Remus, this is James. Don't listen to a single thing he-_

 _Fuck off Pron-_

 _Language Padfoot, what would our dear professor say-_

 _FUUU-_

 _He only said those things cuz I was reading over his shoul-_

 _I fought him off (Lily did). Actually, everyone's gone to bed now, so no more interruptions. We've upped the protection a little more, but with the way things are going, Dumbledore thinks they may have to going into hiding permanently and soon (I can't really say much here, in case this gets into the wrong hands). They're doing okay. I know Lily has been having trouble sleeping. And James hates being cooped up here so I try and visit as often as I can. Peter too, he was here earlier. He seemed… not himself I guess. After what happened to the McKinnons… I guess we all feel a little off…_

 _Are you okay?_

 _Because it really has been longer than usual-_

Mechanically, Remus folded away the elegant scrawl of Sirius Black and tucked it back into the lining of his coat. He would finish it later, when he could deal with questions like " _Are you okay?"_

He knotted his arms tightly around himself, drawing his coat closer and jamming his frozen fingers into his armpits. Concrete grated on his spine, flooding his back with cold, while the front of him was touched with warmth from the barrel fire. Bands of flickering orange light crept past the figures surrounding the more intense heat. He had returned to the urban pack the previous night, unable to bear another night in a back alley protected by energy-draining warming spells. Not that the stench and the constant shifting of bodies was much better. But at least it was warm. And it fulfilled his need to do something.

The papers and wanted ads were crumbled into his coat for insulation. He'd given up on finding a job with the new license marking him a dangerous pariah. His father's friend, Mr. Evaltas, was his last option. He finally scraped together a few knuts to pay for a cheap owl post service and sent the naturalist a letter the day before the moon. He had yet to hear back.

Shadows shifted, shrouding him. Energy skittered through the werewolves, something different than apathy. Remus tensed. Months of spying for Dumbledore taught him not to move, to adjust his eyes and sharpen his other senses.

Low conversation sputtered out. There were heavy footfalls on the wet concrete, at least three newcomers coming down the south tunnel. Perhaps as much as six. A train roared by, drowning out sound and vibrating the floor. Air, pushed by changing pressure, eddied through the pack, carrying scents, smells. Blood, musk, foul odor of sweat and sewage. Noticeable only because it was different, not new in this living mass of persons. But there were a few subtle things that did not belong. Clean cotton, ink. Ash.

The echoes of the train dissipated, allowing regular sound to return. Harsh breathing. Mocking chuckle. The hair prickled on the back of Remus' neck.

"It's been far too long since I've visited this sorry lot." Gravelly, somehow carnal with disgust. "What a pitiful little hovel."

Shuffling.

"You disagree? Get him up!"

Scuffle, yelps, and a grunt of pain. Fear smell, sharp as urine.

"Fresh meat, aren't you?" the voice rasped. "But not one of mine. Pity."

This time, the victim gave a hoarse shout, then Remus heard him hit the floor, hard. He used the ripple of shock running through the pack to shift his weight against the damp wall. Now he could see the new arrivals through the smokey darkness.

Greyback was immediately visible. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and a permanent curve in his spine from his transformations. It bent his weight over the offender,- _Merlin, just a teenager_ -like a hulking shadowy gargoyle. The firelight glinted on eyes like chips of obsidian.

Remus studied his maker, keeping the boy in his peripheral.

The last time he had seen Greyback had been much like this. Except instead of dripping tunnels, it was in the musty stillness of the summer forest. And he had been the victim on the floor of decaying leaves. Thank Merlin he had his wand then. He still remembered the taste of adrenaline in his mouth, the thrill of fear. He'd escaped with just a bruise and a few cuts.

Now, as his fingertips brushed the wooden handle of his wand, he felt nothing. Vaguely, he knew he should be afraid. He was strangely removed from the werewolves around him, whose hearts were beating and muscles frozen. Detached.

Maybe fear could not find him as easily as it did that summer, when he had so much more to lose.

Greyback gave the boy a hard kick. Then he scanned the rest of the werewolves, crammed into the long cylindrical chamber, huddled away from puddles crusted with foul green ice. Remus glanced over his companions. They were his main followers, werewolves all. He knew some: Ceres, Julian, Farkas, Owais. There were no Death Eaters. Remus felt a small twinge of disappointment, but who could expect a Death Eater to descend to this place?

With a low snarl, Greyback hauled the unfortunate victim up and wrapped a burly arm around his neck. Remus tensed. Greyback had killed before, both as a wolf and as a man. But this was so casual, so careless, and the kid was so young-

"I would love to snap this fucker's neck." Greyback's announcement echoed through the chamber, addressing the frozen listeners. The very air had gone still. "But I'm here for someone else," he continued, voice low and threatening. "I know you're here. And if you don't reveal yourself, then this sod's death can be on your conscience. I know you couldn't handle that…"

Remus felt the goosebumps raise on his arms and his blood went cold.

"I just want to talk, Lupin, nothing… perverse," purred the alpha werewolf. "I hear you've been looking for me."

Now he could feel adrenaline gathering in his throat, the animal instinct to flee. Or to remain utterly statuesque and let Greyback wrench his captive's cervical vertebrae apart. It would be easy. After all, how much of his humanity had he preserved in the last month?

The teenager in Greyback's grasp was starting to struggle against the dirty arm pressed against his windpipe. Remus heard his wheezing whimpers increase with panic. His heart fluttered. That could have been him in another life…

" _...more than this."_

Then his self was back, retrieved by the words of the man who pretended to be his friend. He stood numbly. A murmuration of motion spread out like a shockwave through the tunnel, but Remus was focused only on Fenrir Greyback. An old fire was sparking in his chest, just barely.

"I have," Remus confirmed. He was proud of how even his statement was.

A carnal sneer spread across Greyback's face and he dropped the boy like a ragdoll. There was a desperate scrabbling as he put as much distance between himself and Greyback as he could. Remus was tempted to do the same, but he held his ground.

"Ah, Remus," hummed Greyback, adopting a fatherly tone. "You are too easy to manipulate."

"What do you want?" Remus asked sharply. Now the initial dread had truly washed away, replaced by something reckless and angry.

"Well, I could be ask you the same," Greyback replied. In the gloom, his eyes were like filaments. "Why don't we discuss somewhere a little less… crowded?"

Remus eyed the motley collection of rogue werewolves behind Greyback and clutched his wand a little tighter. He was outnumbered. They would be on him in seconds if he agreed. But then… he was a fully capable wizard. Only Greyback and Ceres would be armed with wands, if nothing had changed since the end of the war. In a swift, but purposely dramatic display of magic, he levitated and miniaturized his things with a flash of light and swept them into his pockets. A few of the tense vagabonds around him jumped with shock, but Remus did not take his eyes off Greyback. He stared him down, wand visible and ready.

A warning.

Greyback grinned like a shark and spread his dirty hands wide. The tattered sleeve of his coat lifted just slightly, showing the skull and gaping, snake-clogged mouth of the Dark Mark on his left forearm. The ring of squatters around him recoiled backwards, hissing and murmuring. It was no longer ink-black and writhing like Remus remembered, but dull iron gray. The serpent was fixed and still on the filthy skin.

Remus looked from the Dark Mark back to the alpha.

"Yes, it's still there," hissed Greyback. His tone was a mix of pleasure and disgust. He was a feared servant of the Dark Lord. He was powerful. But he was owned. "It will not fade while he lives. Now…" He paused, allowing the mingled whimpers and gasps to dissolve. "Shall we go?"

Remus knew better than to trust Greyback, but waded forward through the sleeping pallets and dirty, frosted water and dead rats. It would be better to move this confrontation somewhere else. When he was close enough to see the dirt and dried blood crusted into the lines of Greyback's hands, he stopped.

"I'll follow behind you and your pack."

"As you wish," Greyback growled low. He took the lead, his pack members falling in behind him. Remus stayed a good four meters back from the last one, Owais, every sense tingling and listening for an ambush from behind. None came. They navigated through the tunnels, keeping to the shadows, harsh in the scattered fluorescent lights, dissipated by the older vivid-orange bulbs. The silence was broken by droplets echoing, roaring trains, distant car horns, snapping ice.

And then they ascended into the world by an old, underused station. Remus was cautious as he emerged, but the pack merely waited for him under the flickering streetlights. A radio blared from an apartment nearby. A feral cat yowled and a few drunks argued on the corner. Otherwise, the chosen place was abandoned, flanked by decaying buildings and dark alleyways. Remus' fingers quickly grew numb on his wand. It was much colder on the surface of the earth than in the tunnels.

Greyback ducked into a larger alley, where the graffiti was lurid in the bright halo of the streetlight. Apprehension twisting in his gut, Remus stopped at the entrance, just past the shadow of the building so his eyes could adjust to the gloom. The alpha werewolf leaned casually against a dumpster and lit a cigarette. The others melted into the shadows deeper within. Remus could hear them breathing and stomping in the cold, could smell their rancid clothes.

"So…" Greyback began after sucking on his cigarette and blowing a haze of blue smoke into the frigid air. "The war's over Lupin. Thought you were done with betraying our kind by spying for Dumbledore."

"You murdered Danny Carmichael," Remus said, ignoring the taunt. Heat was flaring in his chest, clawing like the wolf.

"He was collateral," Greyback drawled, eyes sparking.

"He was a _child_!"

This retort was pointless, of course. Greyback did not have a conscience. But Remus beyond caring if he listened. Hatred burned hot and fast, scalding through anything else. He was trembling with fury, and not just at Greyback. Because sometimes, in his mind, Danny looked like a tiny James with bright emerald eyes. And Greyback was the man that traded him to the Dark Lord.

Who had taken everything. Maybe that was why he was so unafraid, staring down Greyback and his pack of werewolves.

Greyback was chuckling. Remus' wand hand trembled with the effort to keep himself from killing him with a single, green curse. But he had to control himself. Control was all he had.

"You care so much, Remus," Greyback rasped between amused breaths. He flicked an ember from the cigarette butt to the concrete.

"Why did he deserve to die?" Remus snapped.

"Danny did nothing wrong. An innocent." Greyback leered at him. "Rather like you. Is that why this bothers you so much?"

But Remus' mind raced ahead. _Rather like you._ His dad flashed before his eyes, miserable and white with anguish. " _It was my fault, Remus. This is all my fault…"_

He thought about the wandmaker, Liam Carmichael. "His father did something. Did he insult you?"

"Werewolves are soulless, evil, deserving nothing but death," Greyback echoed Lyall's ignorant words cruelly. Remus did not react. Greyback's gleeful expression darkened. "No, he probably never even met a werewolf until the Cold Moon. But you really don't expect me to tell you the whole story, do you?"

No, he didn't. Remus decided to try a different attack. His anger had become a blood-bright coal, less reckless and more calculating. "What promises did Voldemort make you?"

"Thinking of changing sides?"

"He's gone," Remus said, watching the werewolf carefully. "What was it you needed from him? A channel for bloodlust? Justification for those you murdered?"

"Recognition," Greyback hissed, smoke curling out between his filed yellow teeth.

"Then you're a fool," Remus replied, his tone still quiet, but harsher. "Voldemort lies. Had he won, he would never have given werewolves equality."

"The only fool here is you," Greyback snapped. "The werewolf is superior. He did not promise equality, he promised more. Free reign to hunt as we please."

"He saw himself as greater than you," Remus challenged.

"He is separate from us," Greyback retorted, his chin tilted upwards. "There can be no comparison. The wolf is power, raw and untempered by the deficiencies of man."

"So you remain blindly loyal-"

"I am loyal!" Greyback barked. "And when we return him to power he will reward me."

There it was. Confirmation. Remus kept his face unmoved. Behind Greyback, the other members of the pack prowled and watched restlessly.

"So," Remus said quietly, viciously. "There is someone else. Who is it then, who convinced the mighty Fenrir Greyback to play attack dog? Do you roll over too?"

Greyback stared at him. Then he took another drag from the cigarette before tossing the butt to the ground. An ember skittered away before he crushed it with a booted foot. He was no longer leaning on the dumpster, but standing tall and menacing. The pack stiffened. Remus tensed, keeping his wand at his side. His shoulder muscles jumped, ready to snap at any second.

"The Dark Lord will reward us," Greyback repeated softly. His eyes reflected the light briefly, glittering like tiny neon mirrors. "And you will regret ever rejecting my offers to join our hunt. Every lycan in Europe will howl my name, will honor the blood I have spilt for their freedom. Their hunger will be satisfied."

"Your savagery does nothing for us," Remus replied, his throat slick with revulsion.

"And renouncing your true nature does?" Greyback countered smoothly. "Tell me Remus, what do you gain from what you suffer each moon, locked away to claw at yourself? What to you gain from the loneliness in between?"

Once, Remus might have had a better answer for this. That time seemed like a separate life. A dream. "Nothing except my dignity."

"You debase yourself," Greyback snarled. "You cling to your human weakness like a mewling infant. You call that dignity? There is no power in suffering!"

Greyback's voice reverberated in the alleyway. Remus knew somehow, intuitively that his maker was wrong about this. But his rational mind was agreeing despite himself. The wound on his stomach was frozen with cold. His bones ached, the very marrow traumatized by the moon. He was starving and probably running a fever judging from the way his skin prickled beneath his clothes. The weight of grief and thousands of moons was like a physical thing, crippling him. Nothing about him was powerful right now.

And yet he was still standing.

"What, no witty retort?" Greyback asked, cracking through the icy silence. There was a glint of triumph in his eyes.

"I'm not looking for power," Remus said quietly.

"No." Greyback's voice grated against the bricks, fury melting into curiosity. Almost pity, if he were capable. "No, you're not, are you? Look at yourself." He swept his clawed hand through the air like a scythe. Remus almost flinched. Almost. "You suffer injustice, betrayal, abandonment. Do these really mean anything? If you join me right now, right here, it will end. You'll have a community again, people to stand with you. Be reasonable Remus."

An absurd desire to laugh bloomed in Remus' chest. Greyback had misread him. He was no stranger to the temptation to just give up, but he was far too well-informed about the werewolf's violent rogue pack to think joining them was the answer to his problems. He was here for Harry, not for himself.

"Not for all the comfort in the world," he said, more sure of himself than he had been this entire verbal battle.

Greyback did not look surprised. His pack was gathering in a dark line at his flanks. Remus raised his wand a little higher, so that it caught an edge of streetlight. He had what he was looking for. Greyback would tell him no more about Voldemort or the other loyal supporters or the crime of Liam Carmichael. It was time to go.

"Wrong choice, Lupin," Greyback menaced. "I'm not the only one watching you. You were a friend of the Potters. There are other servants of the Dark Lord who would love to sink their teeth into your flesh."

Remus hesitated, the question on his lips. _Who?_

But the alpha werewolf was drawing his own wand. Ceres copied his leader's movements, lips curled back over yellow, filed fangs. The beta's shoulder bunched, betraying his intention.

Remus had a shield up before the curse flew from the other werewolf. It collided with an explosion of crimson sparks and a flash of light. Remus did not stay long enough for the green spots to clear from his retinas. He threw out a barrage of stunners, counter-attacks sizzling past him, then disapparated with a crack in the strobing darkness.

* * *

 _April 19, 1986_

" _Ennervate!"_

Sirius' eyes blinked open to a sky as blue as eggshells. He coughed, feeling his lungs spasm as they filled with air.

"Five more minutes," he muttered.

"Siri! Are you okay?" gasped Harry's voice. Sirius vaguely identified the small hands shaking his shoulder.

"Peachy," Sirius grunted. "'Cept that was the best sleep I've had in weeks and _someone_ interrupted it." He glared pointedly at the huge, bulky shadow that was now obscuring the perfect, endless sky.

"Kid was getting frantic. And yellin' at me for stunning you."

"Hmph."

"Get up. Let's go again."

Sirius levered himself up on his elbows, rotating his neck experimentally. Moisture had soaked into his shirt and his pants were covered with green stains. Harry rocked backwards into the thick grass, eyeing Sirius with concern.

"Here's your wand," he said, holding out the fir wand.

"Thanks."

"It feels funny in my fingers," Harry said, flexing his hand once Sirius took it. "Like… buzzing."

"That's the magic trying to connect with you Prongslet," Sirius said with a grin.

"Whoa…"

"Yeah. Okay, Harry, back on the porch with you. I want to see every one of those handwriting exercises done by the time we're finished."

"Is he going to knock you out again?" Harry asked, crossing his arms and shooting Mad-Eye another glare.

"Nah, I won't let him."

Now Harry turned his gaze to Sirius, looking dubious. "Like you did last time?"

Sirius erupted into bark-like laughter, standing and pushing Harry in the direction of the cottage. Harry went reluctantly, frowning at the two older wizards as he went. Up until now, he had been dazzled by the mock-duels, laughing and clapping as Sirius and Mad-Eye danced around each other. But, Mad-Eye got under Sirius' guard with a stunner. It was probably the first time Harry had seen anything like that before. Sirius had to admire how calm he was.

"I think he gets the sass from you," Mad-Eye groused as they faced off again.

"Nope, that's definitely his mother," Sirius chuckled.

Once more, they bowed and began again. Sirius was out of practice, that much had been made clear within the first few days. Mad-Eye had not given him any time to dwell on what he had seen at the Ministry. He had only wallowed for a day before Mad-Eye had appeared to challenge him to a duel. And beaten him soundly.

He'd come every day since then. The scarred auror was fast and ruthless in his style, constanting reprimanding Sirius on his footing, his wandwork, his spell-choice. The peaceful meadow was often punctuated gruff roars of, "Constant vigilance, Black!"

But Sirius was improving. He was beginning to feel like his younger self (though he knew he could never be that person again). He was quicker, his movements flowed into instinct instead of practical response. Sirius was always a good dueller, though a little brash and hot-headed. " _A little?!"_ snorted James in his head. Sirius ignored him.

The duelling also gave him an outlet of a kind (the black burn scars in the yard were slowly yielding to new shoots). It brought him out of the knot of dark memories, kept his demons behind locked doors. He had something else to focus on. This was something like moving on, not idling in anger and grief. _Forwards_ not backwards.

It did not lighten his load. But he felt stronger now. Strong enough to look at Remus' handwritten notes, to share the photographs with Harry and the stories behind each one. He told Mad-Eye about the box of candy beans and the droobles wrappers, but the auror was just as flummoxed as he was.

If only he could untangle the threads.

 _Seil setiryp. Verum argentum._

"Vigilance, Black!"

Sirius ducked and rolled. He felt whatever curse Mad-Eye had thrown as a line of heat across his back. Seconds later, his nostrils were met with the smell of burned fabric. _Constant vigilance,_ Sirius scolded himself, sending a return hex. Still, he could not shake the ghost of Remus, who sometimes appeared in the corner of his eye to watch. _Forwards. Not backwards._

"Stupefy!"

"Protego! Tarantallegra!"

A crackling thunder of nonverbal spells.

Remus was joined by Carmichael, his face was scratched and bleeding, his mouth was spilling nonsensical words.

 _Backwards._

"Wait! Time-out!" he shouted.

"There is no time-out in the real world, Black!"

Sirius dodged another crimson stunner. Then, in a series of furious lightning fast movements, he sent a barrage of curses, followed by a feint and a full body-bind. Mad-Eye countered all but the last. His arms snapped to his sides and he toppled backwards, stiff as a board.

Panting, Sirius stood frozen, his mind racing. "Backwards," he muttered to himself. Remus was smiling. Then louder. "It's backwards. Merlin, we're bloody idiots-"

He fumbled for his pocket where the note was crumbled, even though he had it memorized. Flattening it with shaking fingers, he stared at the letters, rearranging them in his head. _Seil setiryp. Pyrites lies._

 _Pyrites._

 _Lies._

Sirius stared, his knees locked, the single piece sliding into place. Had the wandmaker known Pyrites? Mad-Eye never said…

Remembering his mentor suddenly, Sirius jabbed his wand at the prone figure and barked, "Finite."

"Black, if you _ever_ leave me in a body-bind like that again, I swear to bloody Merlin himself-"

"Carmichael and Pyrites, did they know each other?" Sirius, interrupted. Mad-Eye peered at him with irritation.

"Could've been at Hogwarts together," he grunted, standing on his one human leg first and levering up his stiff wooden one. "They're around the same age. And both were employed by the Ministry."

Mutely, Sirius handed him the note. Mad-Eye took it and stared at it with his blue eye, the other staying fixed on Sirius. "Pyrites lies," Sirius said. "That's what it says. It's just backwards."

The magical eye twitched across the note several times, then began to spin in its socket. The craggy lines on his face deepened. "Bloody bastard," he growled. He thrust the note back to Sirius. "Bloody _effing_ bastard-All this time-" He turned and started to stomp towards the gate, swearing.

"You think-"

"I _think,_ " Mad-Eye said, spinning back with rage-fuelled ferocity. "I don't _know_ anything. And unfortunately for us, that means we have to tread carefully."

"What do you mean?" Sirius asked.

"Use your brains, Black," Mad-Eye retorted, gesturing stiffly with his wand. "All we have is a note from a dead man."

"A _dead_ man," Sirius emphasized. Then he paused and gaped at Mad-Eye. "You… you think he could be innocent. Just another piece…"

"Hardly," Mad-Eye said harshly. "But reacting emotionally will get us nowhere. We are going to watch and wait."

"What?! _No!_ We have to confront him-"

"And say what, may I ask?" Mad-Eye snarled. "'We have a note here that says you're lying about something? Care to explain what that is?' One thing I've learned since You-Know-Who fell is that acting carelessly only serves the enemy."

"It's _murder_ ," Sirius retorted heatedly.

"Look at how many Death Eaters are walking free because of half-baked evidence!" Mad-Eye shouted back. "I had to watch as my arrests slipped their chains like eels! Macnair is an executioner for the Ministry, Karkaroff I hear has been instated as Headmaster at Durmstrang. Lucius Malfoy is a respected financial backer of many Ministry projects for Merlin's sake! This is a game, Black; a game where the rules change daily, and never in our favor. We have no proof Pyrites did anything, only the word of a dead man that he is a liar. Tell me, how can we prove he lied if we don't even know what the _truth_ is?!"

Sirius stared, anger crackling in his lungs, in his limbs. Truth and deceit. The battle between the two could not be as complicated as this. Yet somehow, the difference was as elusive as a single drop of fresh water in a vast ocean. A delicate vein of pure metal in an alloy.

 _Verum argentum._

"The truth is silver," Sirius mumbled. "Whatever the hell that means."

"Exactly."

Sirius wanted to tear his hair out with frustration. They were so close, paralyzed by a dead man's riddle. "What now?"

"Now, we look through the evidence again. We keep an eye on our new friend."

"We aren't even going to talk to him as a suspect?" Sirius demanded. This… this was backwards.

" _No,_ " Mad-Eye hissed. "If he is the Death Eater I've been chasing since You-Know-Who fell, I don't want to give him the slightest indication that I'm closer. If he's this good at hiding in plain sight, then he's probably even better at disappearing completely. Besides… reopening the investigation publically could… implicate others."

Sirius recalled the conversation about Carmichael's death and swallowed. _Pyrites lies._ That was what he was trying to say, written in a shaking, desperate hand. If Pyrites was a Death Eater… if he was the one who… his teeth clenched. The beast of rage in his chest was roaring against its cage, while he stood here inert and powerless.

And the one person he thought would _do_ something about it was insisting they _watch and wait._ His fists curled into themselves, fingernails biting his palms.

"Have you spoken with Carmichael's wife?" he asked hoarsely. It was a struggle not to just stun Mad-Eye and storm into the Ministry to kill Pyrites himself. Breath whistling through his nose, he looked over to where Harry was concentrating on his handwriting exercises. _Don't explode in front of Harry…_

"Of course I have," Mad-Eye said dismissively. "It was the first thing I did when his body was found. She didn't know anything about his work or the note. She… hasn't handled his or her son's passing very well."

"Did she say anything helpful?"

"Only that Carmichael was intelligent. Gifted perhaps. He loved his work in the Department of Mysteries, and even more working for Ollivander. That he loved his son and that losing him changed him. But nothing he ever said or did indicated what he meant by _verum argentum_ or that he knew Eurion Pyrites."

"We need to talk to her again," Sirius said.

"We should," sighed Mad-Eye. He rubbed his forehead and surveyed Sirius. "I'm going to the Ministry to dig up what I have on Pyrites. After you bring Harry to the Weasleys, we'll go and speak with Mellie Carmichael."

He turned once more to leave, but paused and looked back at Sirius.

"Don't do anything stupid."

"I won't," Sirius replied, annoyed at how well Mad-Eye read him.

"If he is our Death Eater, we'll catch him. We just have let him think he's the smartest man in the room for a little longer."

Sirius flicked his head in acknowledgement. He could use a stiff drink. But with a glance at Harry, he quelled that particular urge as well. He spent the stiff march towards the porch wondering if they were doing the right thing.

Or if this cautious circumvention was just another injustice to stack upon the tower the Ministry had already built.

* * *

The woman who answered the door was tall. Her frame filled the opening so that they could not see inside. She had silvery gold curls, which contrasted with the frown that marred her strong face. Her glare was directed at Mad-Eye.

"Mr. Moody," she said at once. "I was not expecting you."

"Hello Adeline. Apologies, this visit is a little last minute. Do you mind?"

"Yes, I mind," she snapped immediately. "She is not up for visitors today."

"We'll have to make an exception then," replied Mad-Eye stubbornly. "This is of utmost importance."

"Isn't it always? Please, just leave her alone. She's been through enough as it is."

Sirius sensed Mad-Eye swelling with irritation. "Please Ms. Chambers," he cut in with his best Black charm. "I understand that your sister has suffered a great deal because of the war. We'll be brief."

Adaline turned her angry gaze to Sirius as he spoke. He saw the recognition there. Very few people in the wizarding world could have missed his face plastered in the papers repeatedly since March. She worried her lower lip with her teeth, the first sign that she was beginning to cave.

"Please," he said again. "We can't give her peace, but perhaps some truth will come of this visit."

"Fine," sighed Adaline. "Ten minutes. Nothing more."

"Thank you."

Adaline backed out of the doorway and allowed Sirius and Mad-Eye to pass. The house was bright and decorated in calming shades of white and powder blue. Everything was neatly stowed in its place. Adaline was clearly minimalist and practical in her possessions. They had what was necessary.

She lead them to a small sitting room off the entry hallway. She crossed her arms and gestured them inside with a brief movement of her eyes. Mad-Eye lead the way, stumping chaotically through the ordered place. Sirius followed.

Mellie Carmichael looked like she was made of glass. Porcelain skin was like transparent insect wings over her spidery blue veined hands. It drew together in seams around her thin mouth and too-large eyes. Her hair was thin and the color of corn silk. It was severely coiffed into a knot at the base of her skull. She sat in a floral-patterned armchair, a book open in her lap, but she was staring outside. She made no movement to acknowledge the presence of new arrivals in the room.

"You have visitors, Mellie," Adaline said to her sister softly.

Slowly, as if she were waking up from a long sleep, Mellie turned her delicate face to Sirius and Mad-Eye. Her eyes were matte.

"You want to ask me about my husband again," she whispered. "I have nothing more to say to you."

"There's been new evidence," said Mad-Eye gruffly.

"Doesn't matter," muttered Mellie. "It's been three years. You could never tell me why my family was taken from me."

"We might be closer to the answer. Did your husband know a man called Pyrites?" Sirius asked.

The porcelain eyes clicked to him. They were blank as a doll's. It was almost unnerving, the way she contemplated him.

"Pyrites?" she repeated, almost to herself, her voice feather light. "We were in school together."

"Okay…" Sirius said, when she did not continue. "Were you friends?"

"Friends?" Again, Mellie echoed Sirius distantly. "No, I do not believe so. He was in Slytherin. We were in Ravenclaw, Liam and I. And… our friends. Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure." She chanted the last sentence in an eerie sing-song voice, catching and staccato. Then she revolved slowly back to the window, absently smoothing the pages of the book. Sirius stared, uneasy. The woman's grief was fractured, different from his own. And the wording Mellie used made Sirius pause… " _I do not believe so."_ Sirius glanced over to Adaline, who was watching her sister worriedly.

"Is she telling the truth?" he murmured.

"I don't know," Adaline shrugged, seeming uncomfortable. "I'm a squib. I didn't go to Hogwarts. We… did not have much in common at that time."

"Oh," Sirius replied. He understood the wideness of the chasm that could form between siblings. "I see. No friends have ever come to visit her here?"

"None," answered Adaline bitterly. "I'm all she has now."

Sirius looked back to the woman in the chair with sudden, painful empathy. He understood waiting on the brink of madness. Waiting, waiting, waiting… but no one came. _Why didn't you come, Moony?_ The question hurt as deeply as it always did.

Perhaps if his mirror showed his true reflection, it would be as fractured as Mellie Carmichael.

" _That's not true, Padfoot,"_ said James sadly from where he lingered in Sirius' memory. " _You stayed whole for Harry. You stayed whole for my son. And you will be whole for Remus."_

 _Remus is dea-_ But he stopped the response in its tracks.

"Mellie, did you ever speak with Pyrites at all?" Mad-Eye was asking. Sirius ignored the blue eye that was fixed on him. "Or did Liam have some kind of relationship with him, either a rivalry or an understanding?"

"I… did I speak with Pyrites?" she seemed to ask herself. Her fragile hands flattened the book pages more frantically. "No, no I don't think so. Liam… Liam could not stand to look at the Slytherins after… after what happened to Ileana."

Both Mad-Eye and Adeline seemed to know who Mellie was speaking about. "Who's Ileana?" Sirius asked.

"Ileana Durand. Her best friend in school," Adeline explained in an undertone. "She died before their seventh year. They say You-Know-Who killed her."

" _Voldemort_?"

There was a ripping sound. Mellie's hands had spasmed across the pages, tearing them out like butterfly wings.

"Don't say his name," she hissed. Her eyes cleared suddenly and focused on Sirius with a hard, crystalline clarity.

"Sorry," Sirius soothed, his hands up and placating. "Why would he hurt Ileana? She was just a girl…"

"Don't know, don't know," murmured Mellie. She deflated. "No one ever said… We moved on. We had to move on."

"Do you think Pyrites was involved?"

"No, no, he…" Mellie started. Then her voice faded away and she looked confused. Her mouth open and closed, her hands twisting the ripped pages. "He…I don't… I don't think…"

Her lower lip was beginning to tremble. Seeing her sister's distress, Adeline spun to Sirius and Mad-Eye, her mouth thinned and nostrils flared.

"Get out," she ordered. "You've upset her and this is going nowhere. I shouldn't have let you in here in the first place."

Mad-Eye did not protest. He allowed the formidable woman to herd them back out into the hall and through the door. Sirius got one last glance at Mellie through the doorway. The twisted paper in her hands was beginning to shred. In the reflection of the window, he saw her mouth moving ceaselessly, chanting, "I don't, I don't, I don't…"

Then they were outside in the gentle spring warmth beneath the great blue sky. The door slammed behind them. Mad-Eye huffed and started to stump down the walk to the street. Sirius hurried to catch up with him. They walked in silence for a block, then Mad-Eye said, "Never knew how much of her ramblings were reliable."

Sirius was quiet. Mellie's brokenness appeared to be more than grief. It was frightening to see a woman so crushed into the ground. This was what war had done to her. He could not help but compare their fates and wonder… He was far from okay. But how did he deserve to even hope for okay when Mellie Carmichael was so permanently damaged?

"I don't believe her when she says that they never associated with Pyrites," Mad-Eye stated. "She's missing information."

"You think her memory was wiped?" Sirius asked with realization.

"It's possible."

They did not need to speak about who could have done so. Sirius was finally beginning to accept that confronting Pyrites now would be a poor choice. But this did not soften his hatred of uselessness. Their net was shredded by lost knowledge and missing pieces. A million tiny failures. Any Death Eater would easily slip their trap.

"Did anyone ever find out what truly happened to Ileana Durand?" he questioned.

Mad-Eye stared ahead unseeing.

"No. No, we never did."

* * *

The day was far too long.

And Sirius could not help but feel disappointed. Not a small disappointment either, but the bone-deep ache of being failed. Failed by the wizarding world, by the Ministry, by justice… failed by Alastor Moody.

He could hardly focus on Harry, who was excitedly regaling him with the mess Fred and George made of Molly's kitchen. Despite this apparent disaster, they had stayed for dinner at the Burrow, but Sirius mainly pushed the food around his plate, mixing the peas into the sauce and cutting his chicken into tiny pieces. He could feel Arthur's eyes on him, thoughtful and contemplating, but he expertly avoided answering any of his probing questions.

"The countertop was covered with this weird purple goo-"

Now, as he absently toweled Harry's hair dry, he almost regretted keeping his problems locked away. He was definitely going to explode if he didn't, that was a fact of his life. Arthur would have listened… but it was too late for unloading today. He abandoned the towel and siphoned the rest of the dampless from Harry's black locks with his wand.

"They had to clean up the _whole kitchen!_ Even though Mrs. Weasley can do it with magic! I've see her do it, but she made them do it like I did at the Dursleys. Buckets and sponges and everything. She must have been really mad-"

Speaking of disappointment. Every time Harry mentioned the Dursleys it was like his lungs were being wound tighter in some kind of machine…

"Took them nearly an hour. Ron said they had it coming though…"

It was a several minutes before Sirius realized that Harry had stopped talking. Startled, he looked down at his godson, pausing in buttoning his pajama shirt. Harry was watching his hands, frowning at the scars that decorated his knuckles. Places where the skin split when he took out his feelings on the walls of his cell.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"You stopped talking."

"It wasn't that interesting of a story," Harry shrugged, not looking up at him. Sirius could have kicked himself.

"It was a very good story," he said hurriedly. "I'm sorry… I was thinking…"

"It's okay."

"It's not," Sirius sighed. He finished buttoning Harry's shirt, then sat back heavily. "It's not okay. I should have… I should be…"

Merlin, he was so _tired_. His spine was bent beneath his exhaustion.

"I should be better," he mouthed, soft enough that Harry would not hear.

"Well… maybe I can tell you again tomorrow, when you don't have too much to think about," Harry said suddenly. Sirius looked up at him. He was smiling, impossibly. In that moment, he looked just like Lily. "I think you'd laugh if you really heard it."

"Tomorrow then," Sirius replied, his mouth automatically mirroring Harry's smile. How could such innocence still exist when the whole world had fallen so far?

For an instant, he was back in the dark tower, the ocean sucking greedily at the slick sides, pressed against iron bars and screaming to be let out. Because Harry was alone in a world where Wormtail was free. And no one listened.

The agony of doing nothing pounded through his veins. Once more damned to a prison of too many secrets. And Harry was left exposed. That was the worst part about letting Pyrites live another day in the sunlight.

He picked Harry up and carried him to his bedroom. As he tucked the covers around his godson, the back of his neck prickled.

He would spend tonight pacing the house and imagining the white-gloved man watching from the warded borders.

Today was far too long. And he got the feeling it would not end tomorrow.

* * *

 **a/n: Hopefully that all came together in a way that makes sense. I couldn't let Sirius sit on the easy half of the clue for too long (though in the words of Hermione Granger, some wizards just don't have an ounce of logic. But Sirius is too smart for that).**

 **Anyway, I can't wait to hear your thoughts/comments/concerns and I hope that wherever you are the weather is getting warmer (because it can't make up its mind here). Huge thank you to everyone who reviews, especially those who leave a thought on each chapter because you have a special place in my heart, even though I don't always respond.**


	12. Stay, Abandon

**So sorry for the wait! I had the draft of this done ages ago, I just could not find the time to go through and revise until now (end of the school year drag). But, here you are, and this is the next installment of The Lost Ones! Enjoy!**

 **-Cat**

 **P.S. I made some small edits to previous chaps thanks to a reviewer (Teufel1987), who pointed out that Malfoy actually was never a member of the Wizengamot. I love writing AU, but it's also important to me to stay true to the story when I can. It was a simple change (I just switched his role to donor), but if you're curious, you can go back and read again :). If not, read on. Thanks Teufel1987!**

* * *

Chapter 12

Stay/Abandon

 _March 10, 1982_

Remus was startled awake by a noisy stomping on the other side of his bedroom door. Heart in his mouth, he snatched up his wand and slid silently out from under his thin quilt. Tender bruises and painful muscles sent fire racing through his limbs. He cursed softly, but held his stance, creeping to the door. Oh, his hip _ached_.

Whoever the intruder was, they were not bothering to be stealthy. There was a clanging of metal on metal, irregular footfalls, heavy breathing. Wand wood warm under his fingers, Remus' mind raced.

His encounter with Greyback in January still had him on edge. It had been reckless to go after him alone, and months later, Remus still did not know why he had. Or didn't want to know why. Whatever the reason, he watched the shadows with a vigilance Mad-Eye Moody would be proud of.

 _Wait._

His adrenaline-fueled thoughts halted.

 _Damn it._

Irritation swelled in Remus chest. He pushed open his door and limped swiftly into his living room.

"Do you make a habit of barging into people's homes uninvited?" he demanded.

"Lupin, a pleasure as always." Mad-Eye gave him a cheerful smirk and leaned comfortably against the countertop. The kettle beside him was already heating and had a rosy glow to it, catching the dusk through the open window.

"How on earth-"

"Your new employer told me your new address. Clausius Evaltas is famously reclusive. You probably get along splendidly."

"We correspond through letters, mostly," Remus admitted. His heart was reaching a normal rhythm, though his annoyance remained. He set his wand on the table, since his flannel bottoms had no pockets. "And my address is none of your business."

"You've been employed for six weeks now. That has to be a record," snarked the auror.

"Been keeping track, have you?" Remus grumbled. It was useless to explain the concept of nosiness to his other, less-wolfish stalker. But this was a whole new level of breach-of-privacy, even for Mad-Eye. He slouched into one of the chairs, taking his weight off his throbbing hip. Mad-Eye's electric blue eye watched the movement keenly.

"How was the moon?"

"Gentle as a lamb," Remus replied sarcastically. Last night was his third moon spent without any assistance afterwards. He had barely managed to drag himself back to his new flat and into the squeaky bed (for once, his salary allowed for such luxuries). Now that he was conscious again, he took careful stock. Nothing seemed broken, though his wrist could be a little sprained. He twisted it experimentally and winced.

"You're rubbish at looking after your health, Lupin," Mad-Eye deadpanned. "Here." Before Remus could protest, he jabbed his wand forward. His wrist went very hot, then very cold. Then, the pain melted slowly into stiffness.

"Thanks," Remus answered. "But I think I do okay all things considered."

"All things considered," Mad-Eye repeated, glowering. He seemed uncharacteristically solemn as he enunciated each word. The silence thickened until the kettle whistled and the auror deliberately set about making two mugs of tea. Remus waited, getting distinctly uneasy at the auror's mysterious new attitude. Mad-Eye set a steaming cup in front of him. Followed by, inexplicably, a chocolate bar.

Remus raised a solitary brow of question.

"Happy birthday," the auror muttered gruffly. "In case you forgot."

No, Remus had not forgotten. He just thought that his father was the only person left who remembered. A small package containing a field journal and self-inking quills had arrived by owl the day before, along with a few potions for the coming moon. With the gift came a small note in his father's writing, congratulating him. _Happy twenty-second birthday, Remus. Sorry about the timing. Please come and visit soon. I love you, son. Dad._

Remus' heart was heavy as he stared at the matte paper wrapping, the shiny gold foil. "Thanks," he murmured. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had chocolate. The memories seemed like… a superposition of a million different lifetimes. All interfering, all losing intensity with time. All overshadowed. Not damaged just… lost.

He did not feel twenty-two.

"You disappeared on me, Lupin," Mad-Eye accused quietly.

"I know," Remus sighed, not bothering to deny that it was on purpose. He dropped his customary guarded attitude that he usually used with the auror. Mad-Eye saw through it anyway, so it was pointless to wear the mask. Besides, he did not have the energy. "I just… needed to prove something to myself, I guess."

"Did it help?"

"No."

"Didn't think so." Brusque. "How was Scotland?"

"Cold. Wet. But I had something to do so…" The uneasy feeling was back. Remus scrutinized his weathered companion, but the auror's scarred face was quite inscrutable.

"Evaltas said he had you chasing down some possibly new species of grindylow?"

"Yes. And I actually did find a possibility. There was an interesting pattern on this one's webbing, almost like script, which as far as I know hasn't been officially described by any naturalists. I sent a few pictures-"

"So you're doing something you enjoy?"

"I… yes, I suppose I am."

"Good."

"Good?"

"Because if you weren't I almost feel bad about what I'm about to say."

"What are you-"

"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?!"

Remus startled badly, sending a lightning shock of pain through the unhealed bruises and older, aching wounds. He knew his jaw had dropped open, but he couldn't seem to pull it back up.

"DO YOU EVEN KNOW HOW LONG YOU WERE MISSING?"

"Missing?" Remus repeated weakly.

" _Missing,_ " Mad-Eye hissed, leaning over the table. "I didn't even know you were dredging the Scottish lochs until three weeks ago! _Three weeks!_ Last trace of you was in the abandoned underground tunnels where several witnesses reported _you_ being dragged off by Fenrir Greyback! A werewolf and _known Death Eater_!"

"He just wanted a chat."

" _A bloody chat?!"_ Mad-Eye repeated, reminding Remus of an angry crab. He wouldn't be surprised if he started frothing at the mouth.

"I didn't realize-"

"You didn't realize that pulling a vanishing stunt after that would be cause for concern?!" Mad-Eye asked with biting sarcasm. "Well newsflash, Lupin. When Greyback is involved, it's _always_ concerning."

"You don't have to tell me that," Remus snapped, anger flaring hot and sudden. The old bite wound in his shoulder gave a ghostly throb.

"Of course, you're the expert," Mad-Eye seethed with irreverent sarcasm.

"I needed _space_ ," Remus argued sharply. Honestly, what did Mad-Eye expect from him? "Some time without anyone hounding me for-"

"Do you think I watch out for you for _fun?!_ " Mad-Eye interrupted. His magical eye was spinning with rage. "I haven't forgotten that you're the closest living friend to Lily and James Potter. They made it no secret that you were practically family and I doubt the Death Eaters have overlooked that fact. Look at what they did to Alice and Frank!"

Remus flinched, but mustered enough heat to retort, "I'm not required to report my every move to you. If you have a problem with-"

"Yes, I have a big problem. You could have been killed. Or worse," Mad-Eye portended ominously. "Take a minute for me, Lupin, and imagine the look on your father's face when I told him that you were gone without a trace, last seen with Fenrir Greyback."

Remus felt himself go pale. He thought of the note he'd received yesterday, so composed and simple. Perhaps not. _Please come and visit soon. I love you, son. Dad._ His indignation at Mad-Eye's castigation drained away, leaving him feeling hollow and ungrateful.

"I thought that might hit a mark," Mad-Eye growled. "Thank bloody Merlin your father happened to remember telling you about a job opportunity with a colleague of his. You're not the only sorry bloke in this world who lives to avoid any form of human connection. Took me another week to track Evaltas down. By then it was mid-February."

"Wait a minute… how long did it take to realize I was 'missing' in the first place?" Remus asked shrewdly. He'd received no letters from anyone other than Evaltas until late February.

Mad-Eye paused and gave him a baleful, one-eyed glare. "Too long," he snipped.

"So this isn't entirely my fault?"

"No. I'm just the only person that has the nerve to say it's partially yours."

"Because I'm a werewolf or because all my friends are dead or in prison?" Remus could not help the bite in the question. But he was feeling more sorry for himself than usual today and now it was compounded by guilt.

The old auror slowly deflated, an odd look on his face. He considered Remus, settling into his chair and sipping on his tea. He tapped his gnarled fingers on the table.

"Not all your friends," he muttered, finally. Then quickly, to cover the lapse in his rough exterior, he asked, "What did Greyback want?"

"Nothing."

"Don't fuck around with me right now, Lupin," Mad-Eye ordered sharply. His face was shadowed. "You're not the only missing person I've been dealing with this month connected to that bastard."

Remus paused, dread stirring in his gut. "Who else?"

"Liam Carmichael. His wife reported it beginning of February. So… I'd say you owe me an explanation."

Remus went silent. The heat of their argument cooled to a somber pall. His mind raced back to January, combing through the confrontation with Greyback. Their conversation lingered on his thoughts like the acrid smell of cigarette smoke. He stared down at his hands, where a line of puckered scar-tissue rose along the knuckle of his ring finger.

" _What do you gain from what you suffer?"_

"There was an eviction notice on my door when I returned from the Ministry on boxing day."

"I heard."

"I couldn't afford anything else so… I stayed in the streets." He hoped that the warmth in his cheeks was not showing. "And I started making the rounds of few packs. Especially an urban pack that lives in the abandoned underground tunnels."

"You were looking for him."

"Yes," Remus admitted. "I had talked to a contact before Christmas. Then I just observed. I didn't draw attention."

"Contact?"

"A fellow werewolf."

"His _name,_ Lupin. Just so I know who's on our side. I'm not going pay him a visit or anything."

Remus glanced at him suspiciously, but relented. "Abalendu. Len. I don't have a surname. He's been helpful to me in the past."

Mad-Eye took out a memo book and scribbled down the name. "What next?" he asked.

"I was staying in the tunnels after the moon. Greyback found me."

"And?"

"And we talked."

Mad-Eye snorted with disbelief.

"Okay, some spells were exchanged, but I got out of there before anything happened. I'm not stupid."

Mad-Eye glared at him as if he really wanted to argue that fact. Remus glared right back. Mad-Eye huffed. "What did you do next?"

"I left London, obviously. I did not trust Greyback to let it go, which was a good thing. I checked on Len because I was worried that Greyback had gotten to him. He was fine but told me I needed to disappear for awhile, and so I did. I'd already contacted Evaltas and he sent a letter requesting my curriculum vitae, which wasn't much besides my O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. scores, but they were enough for him. I told him I needed to be somewhere a little more remote for a while. I couldn't leave the United Kingdom because getting through the red tape at the Ministry would take too long, so he sent me to Scotland. You know the rest."

"Did you talk to Greyback about Mr. Carmichael?"

"Briefly," Remus answered. Guilt tingled in his limbs. Was that why Carmichael had disappeared? Because Remus revealed that at least someone was still interested in the case? "He did not reveal much, but he confirmed your suspicion that Danny was just collateral. They needed something from Liam."

"They?"

"Greyback wasn't clear about who, but he did say, 'When _we_ return Voldemort to power,'" Remus recalled. "And he was not talking about his pack. Refused to speak anymore about it, but I think… I think whatever he and the other Death Eaters wanted from Liam Carmichael, he had not provided it."

"So they took him," Mad-Eye murmured under his breath. "What could they possibly want with a wandmaker?"

Remus shrugged. The same question had been bothering him since Danny's murder. There was very little he had come up with besides, "Voldemort's wand was recovered, right?"

"No. It wasn't. The aurors assumed it was destroyed in the blast… or perhaps disappeared with him."

Remus felt that either scenario was more likely than someone taking the wand of the Dark Lord. After death, the wand became a relic of the person if it did not change allegiance. But Voldemort was not dead. Unlike James and Lily. Their wands had been buried with them, tucked in their pale hands and lowered into the depths of the earth. Peter's had been given to his mother. Remus wondered if she had burned it, or if she kept it someone, hidden and unused. Something to hold on to.

"Even if, somehow, a Death Eater had the Dark Lord's wand, what advantage would it give them?" Mad-Eye said gruffly into Remus' silence. "A wand does not hold power besides affinities and tendencies towards certain kinds of magic. It's the wizard who uses it."

But this was not entirely true. Mr. Ollivander spoke of wands as if they were living, conscious beings. " _The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Lupin."_ Even so, a wand could not resurrect its owner, nor point you to him or her if lost. Remus sighed. This was getting them nowhere.

"Maybe it has nothing to do with wands," he stated practically. "Why take the apprentice when you could have the master? Carmichael may be talented, but Ollivander has years upon years of study and experience. Even Gregorovitch would be a better choice. Perhaps this is personal. Or has something to do with his work in the Department of Mysteries."

"Perhaps so." Mad-Eye's hummed response was equivocal. "His work there was mostly on the spatial limits of magic. Occasionally dabbled in temporal. Got wrapped up some complicated ideas, and somehow that lead him to wandlore, according to a colleague, Saul Croaker. That was the most I got out of him. Unspeakables tend to be very reticent when discussing work, even during a high-level investigation."

"Did you talk to Dumbledore about his relationship with Rookwood?"

Mad-Eye nodded.

"Anything interesting?"

"Yes, actually. Before their seventh year started, a girl went missing over the summer holidays. Ileana Durand, a muggle-born Ravenclaw in the same year as Carmichael. Her body was found weeks later. No one was ever caught in connection with the crime, but it was later assumed she was one of the early victims of the Death Eaters as You-Know-Who rose to power."

"Were they friends?" Remus asked, feeling a rising empathy for Carmichael.

"Yes, and apparently they were close. Her death hit him and a few others in their group fairly hard."

"Dating?"

"No, there was another boy. But Carmichael found it very difficult to move on, especially with the tensions between Slytherin and the rest of the houses growing. He blamed the Slytherin students. There was a violent altercation between him and Rookwood, though it was broken up before anything terrible happened."

"That's… dramatic," Remus stated.

"It is," Mad-Eye agreed. "I don't know if it adds anything to our story besides ruling him out as a secret Death Eater. I doubt he would join after something like that. And besides, this all happened sixteen years ago."

"True," Remus hummed. Absently, he mused that sixteen years ago he had only been eight years old. A child, though not an innocent, unaware of the series of events already set in motion. Of the spectacular joys he would experience, of the depths of grief he would endure. Just because of one werewolf's revenge and a Dark Lord. "We can't disregard it."

"I wasn't planning to."

Remus rubbed his hands over his face, feeling the callouses catch on scars and stubble. His bones were aching for another long period of unconsciousness in his creaky bed. "This is a mess," he groaned. "Wasn't all of this supposed to be over when the war ended?"

"The war just went into hibernation. The monster will be hungry when it wakes."

"Charming little metaphor," Remus muttered. It reminded him of the wolf sleeping somewhere deep inside. Of time slipping by like unstoppable corrosion. He'd survived five moons since the war ended. He had scars now that no one but he had seen, wounds he'd treated alone. How many more would he face before… before what?

Quite suddenly the future yawned before him like a tomb.

"Only the dead have seen the end of war," he murmured to himself. For the millionth time, he wondered what kind of peace James and Lily and Peter had found beyond this world. While he lingered on like a ghost and Sirius slowly lost his mind somewhere Remus couldn't bear to think about.

"You quoting something?"

"I think…" But he could not remember who or what.

Moody exhaled and finished his tea with a noisy gulp. Then he set the cup down firmly and stood.

"Listen Lupin. You're going through hell, I get that. But I'm also an insensitive bastard, so I'm going to remind you that this is bigger than you or me. I'm going to do everything in my power to see the end of this. Are you?"

Remus knew the answer to that question in his bones even before it was asked.

"What else would I do?" he said.

"Give up," Mad-Eye answered bluntly. "But I think you're made of something different."

He was made of broken pieces, he thought bitterly. Scars like seams held them together.

" _There is no power in suffering,"_ hissed Greyback in his mind. Again, Remus was tempted to agree, but…

 _I'm still here._ It was not defiant, just a quiet acknowledgement. He hoped James and Lily heard wherever they were and understood. _I'll do what I can for him._ Then he looked Mad-Eye in the eye and said calmly, "You haven't lost me."

"Good," Mad-Eye grunted. His expression and his shoulders loosened. Remus had not even noticed his tension until it was relieved. "It's been quiet lately, but I've never trusted peace. Keep up what you're doing with Evaltas. I'll be in touch if anything changes. This will be a long game, I think. Played in the shadows."

 _We are dogged by shadows._

When Mad-Eye left, Remus knew what he needed to do next.

* * *

The sun was setting like a conflagration in the west, burning the clouds with color. Remus watched from his seat on a park bench. The playground was an empty skeletal silhouette against the sky. Smokey darkness was drifted over the charcoal-sketch houses, until everything was blue in the aftermath.

Remus did not push himself upwards until a sprinkling of stars penetrated the huge dome. His bones screamed in protest and his muscles felt like they were snapping after being forced to stay awake. He was almost completely spent. But he brushed these things aside. Street lights flickered on with a false yellow light. Remus kept to the deeper shadows. He doubted vagrants were common in this suburban neighborhood.

He'd been to the playground before. In the death throes autumn, when the cold and dark kept the children indoors. Never had he ventured any further. He needed to this evening. He needed to remember that he was not completely lost.

He kept his distance from the house. But the windows flickered with a play of light and moving figures. One was thin and angular, elbows sticking out like branches. Another was unusually large, covering whole windows at a time. Sometimes he would toss something up and down, something that looked like a beach ball with arms and legs.

Remus waited, every nerve tingling with longing.

Then finally, finally, the thin woman picked up another child, just briefly, as if to move him out of the way. His hair was still as messy as James', and even though he was too far to really see the color of his irises, Remus could imagine the bright emeralds that Lily had given him. His breath hitched. Then Harry was gone from view.

But Remus stayed where he was for a long time, until the lights inside the house were turned off and all were sleeping. Until the waning moon rose, a stain of silver in the black making the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

"I'm right here, cub," he whispered. "You haven't lost me."

* * *

 _April 24, 1986_

These were the things that Sirius no longer understood:

Self-Help Books. Seriously, when had that become a thing? Maybe it always was a thing. Sirius just had never noticed before. Maybe it was just the aftermath of Azkaban that made them seem ridiculous. But secretly he was curious… did they work?

Muggle astronauts. Except maybe he did a little. But the risk of hurling yourself beyond the atmosphere was just… extraordinary. He wondered why the _Challenger_ crew believed the moon and the stars were worth it. He wondered if he believed that.

Promises. Because what was the use? He was still raw from failure. Disappointment in Mad-Eye, in Dumbledore… in himself. Every promise he'd ever made, he'd broken in some way or another. " _You know we'll never leave you, right?"_ And yet he still promised, vowed, swore. _I'll be better. One day, I'll be good._

Epitaphs. Trite words in stone, meant to capture a lifetime. But never enough. What would his say? _Here lies a real S.O.B. He did what he could._

And the bloody Whomping Willow.

"I'm not even touching you," he groused, one palm out in a placating gesture. The other hand held Harry's captive so he wouldn't wander too close. "Give it a rest, will you?"

The Willow thrashed, punching out another bark-covered fist in their direction. Harry gasped.

"Don't worry, Prongslet," Sirius reassured him. "It's just saying hello."

"That's… not a very friendly tree," Harry pointed out.

"Nope," Sirius agreed. He glared at the tree. "You know, I stopped by to be nice. Reminisce about the good old days. Least you could do is hold still and let me wallow in peace."

The Willow shivered with apoplectic rage. Sirius sighed. He eyed the knot at the base of the Willow's trunk, but decided against freezing the tree. That was the traitor's job. Besides, he did not want to be tempted down the tunnel into the past.

"Sirius, can we please, please, _please_ go in the castle? Ron would be soooo jealous," Harry begged once more, tugging on his hand.

"I'm already breaking enough rules as it is," Sirius chuckled. "Besides, I have to let _some_ things be a surprise. If I spoiled everything it'd be no fun!"

"I guess…" His green eyes stared longingly up at the huge structure on the hill. Sirius felt a stab of melancholy nostalgia at his expression, wishing he could be young again. Just a first year, meeting James for the first time on the train, getting into trouble, bugging Remus for homework.

"Fang! No, Fang, heel. _Heel!_ "

Seconds after the familiar shout, Sirius was attacked by vicious ball of wrinkly storm-gray puppy love. Awkwardly large paws clumsily found purchase on his thighs when he crouched down. A sloppy, pink tongue instantly found his face.

"Puppy!" Harry yelped in surprise and delight.

Sirius stroked the loose folds of skin and pushed the dog out of his face. It went straight to sloppily kissing Harry instead, who giggled and shrieked, "Gross!"

Behind the pup came the much larger, much hairier groundskeeper, puffing for breath. When he caught sight of Sirius, a wide grin stretched the unruly brown beard.

"Sirius." The giant's voice wavered slightly as he enveloped Sirius in a bone-cracking hug. "Good to see you, lad. I see ye've met Fang. He's still learning."

"He's no trouble. Good to see you too, Hagrid."

"Yeah, ye won't be saying that when he's taller than you are," Hagrid said. But he was staring at Harry as he said this, his eyes looking moist.

"Harry, this is my friend Hagrid," Sirius introduced, holding back a grin at Harry's expression as he took in the half-giant. "I've told you about him. He's the one who likes dragons."

"You're really tall," Harry said to Hagrid.

Hagrid threw back his head and laughed heartily. Then, he wiped a few beading tears from his ruddy cheeks with his giant fingers and said, "And so are you. Last time I saw ya, Harry, you were just a wee babe. I could fit you in one hand."

"You knew me when I was a baby?"

"Well, I only saw you once," Hagrid rumbled softly. "But yes…" He trailed away, coloring and glancing at Sirius. They were both silent for a moment, recalling their last conversation on Halloween night, when everything fell apart. Sirius was suddenly aware that this was last person who had spoken to Sirius with any kindness before Azkaban. A sudden rush of affection for the half-giant warmed his heart.

"So," Hagrid started again, swinging his arms back and forth. "Yer here for your old bike. I've got it in the pumpkin patch. Didn't use it much, but I kept it in good condition. It's like new."

"Thanks," Sirius said quietly, for more than just his motorbike.

"Yer welcome," Hagrid said with a wide, oblivious grin. "You gonna go up to the castle before you go? Say hello to a few professors?" Sirius shifted his gaze to the ramparts and turrets on the hill. That was a question he'd been asking himself on the way here.

It was late morning, so classes would be in session. No one would see him, so he could walk through the ancient hallways in peace. Harry was happily playing with Fang again. He trusted Hagrid to watch him for a little while… And there was an invitation in his pocket, brought by a huge snowy owl that had delighted Harry.

 _Dear Sirius,_

 _I know you are planning on retrieving your marvelous motorbike from Hagrid sometime during the week. If you are able to stop by my office, I would like to talk._

 _Albus Dumbledore_

 _P.S. I enjoy Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans._

Why Dumbledore wanted to talk was a mystery to Sirius, as it usually was. Sirius had not been actively avoiding the Headmaster, but he had not made any effort to speak with him since they'd collected (rescued) Harry from the Dursleys. There was too much he wanted to say. And he was not in the mood to listen.

"Dumbledore wanted to speak to me," he said out loud.

"Well, if Dumbledore wants to talk, you should probably go on up," Hagrid rumbled without catching on to Sirius' hesitations.

"Yeah," Sirius muttered. Then decided. "I'll speak with him. Can you watch Harry?"

"Absolutely," Hagrid said, looking excited.

"You can show him around. Not the castle though," Sirius said sternly, but winked. "We're trying not to spoil _everything_."

"Aw, come on, Sirius," Harry moaned.

"Yer godfather has a point," Hagrid chortled. "Hogwarts is a very special place. Best to enjoy it slowly."

"Thanks Hagrid."

"We'll meet you at my house."

"Sounds good." He gave Harry a quick hug and whispered in his ear, "Don't eat anything Hagrid makes you. He's an even worse cook than I am."

Harry snickered. "Kay, I won't."

Then Sirius trudged up the hill to the castle doors. The grounds were the pale spring green of new grass. It was slightly overcast, but warm. In a few hours, the hillside would be dotted with students, rejoicing to be free after being enclosed in the castle all winter.

It was impossible to not see the Marauders everywhere. They were in every patch of grass, on the shoreline of the lake, zooming through the quidditch pitch, under the large tree on the shoulder of the hill. When Sirius stepped through the doors, he felt an impression of every time he'd dashed out, snuck out, stood here and simply looked out.

Indoors, it was worse. James was laughing around every corner. Remus was leaning against windows and walls, ink smudged on his book-buried face. Peter…

In Sirius' memories he was just the same teenage boy who'd admired him, who'd comforted him, who was just… Peter. In Azkaban, Sirius was a cauldron of hatred. That had almost been easier. He'd done his best to ignore any memory of the traitor since his release. Could hate and loss exist in the same space?

Sirius resolved to keep his eyes down as best he could and hurried along just to escape Peter's mournful, watery gaze. When he reached the griffin statue outside Dumbledore's office, his murmured, "Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans."

Peter was replaced by Remus. Remus holding a little purple box of six golden beans. Inexplicable. Another unsolved mystery. He hurried up the staircase.

The door to Dumbledore's office swung open before Sirius could knock. The circular room at not changed. Sirius had an audience of past headmasters and headmistresses as he entered, all of them whispering and pointing. Except Phineas Nigellus, who sniffed haughtily and said, "Well, well, well. If it isn't my failure great-nephew. Heard you staged a prison-break." Sirius ignored him. Delicate instruments clicked in a strange, syncopated rhythm.

"Good morning, Sirius," said the Headmaster from behind his desk. He put down a huge, eagle-feather quill and smiled. Behind his silvery head, Fawkes the phoenix perched in feathery brilliance.

"Albus," Sirius said with stiff politeness. In the empty chair before the Headmaster's desk, he could almost see his sixteen-year-old self, back straight, horrified, contrite, waiting to be expelled. James avoiding eye contact, Snape sulking and muddy…

"It's been some time since you've been here."

"Yeah. Used to be a frequent flyer in this place." He gestured casually, as if the memories were not causing him any pain. Not that he could fool Dumbledore, whose crystalline eyes studied him over half-moon glasses.

"Lemon drop?" Dumbledore pushed forward a cut-glass bowl of yellow candies.

"No, thanks," Sirius replied shortly, thinking again of the golden beans.

A heavy stalemate settled between the two wizards. Each watched the other, wondering who would be the first to speak. But Dumbledore serenely folded his hands on the desk. "You may start, if you wish. I know you had some things to say to me as well."

This unshaken permission to yell just irritated Sirius even more. He gulped down the building shout out of spite. _Don't explode._ He inhaled through his nose, then released the oxygen from his lungs until they were totally empty. It didn't help. So he repeated the process twice more.

"He cries silently," he finally said. His voice was much steadier than he'd expected, though the fire in his gut still roared. "Not a sound. I used to be a silent crier. Scared the hell out of James… Do you know what kind of home does that to a child?"

"I have an idea," Dumbledore said softly.

"Please," Sirius scoffed. The heat in his chest was becoming so intense his hands shook. "If you knew… if you had any idea… they kept him in a cupboard! They _hated_ him and all he wanted was to be wanted! You should hear how he talks about his aunt, as if she could never be happy with anything he did. And _Vernon_. Merlin, Albus, Harry is terrified of him and I can't- he won't even to tell me half of went on in that house-I can't ask him-God, if James were here he'd-"

He cut himself off, because scarlet was was gathering at the edges of his vision, a warning sign that he was going to start shouting. He still had some respect left for the older wizard, their leader through the war, sitting there so calm and unaffected-

"I'm sorry, Sirius. It was only for his safety-"

"HE _WASN'T_ SAFE!"

So much for not shouting. But it was too late to stop, so he let it burst out like a hurricane.

"THEY HATED HIM! THEY _HATED_ HIM, DON'T YOU GET THAT?! YOU FAILED HIM! AND JAMES AND LILY!"

Dumbledore's expression did not even twitch.

"THEY- _-I_ TRUSTED YOU TO KEEP HIM- _THEM_ -SAFE!" He gasped for breath and it almost was like a sob. "I _trusted_ you-"

Suddenly it was like someone had opened a drain at the base of his skull and the pressure receded so fast, he was left light-headed. "All you had to do-you just had to do that and you didn't."

"Sirius…"

He ground his knuckles against his temples and squeezed his eyes shut against the ink spots dancing in his vision.

"You were supposed to be there," he hissed. "Isn't that your job? Albus Dumbledore, the fucking super-wizard who knows what everyone needs right when they need it? _You're supposed to step in when I fail!_ "

Which was the whole, sad bloody truth of it. No, Sirius no longer understood promises. Because they crumbled like ashes.

"You left them alone," he tried again, but it was weak, like air being let out of a balloon.

"Sirius… nothing that happened on Halloween or afterwards was your fault," Dumbledore said gently.

"Does it ease your conscience to counsel me, old man?" Sirius snapped like a wounded animal.

"No." The Headmaster's voice hardened a little with the admittance. Sirius had touched a nerve. But he did not feel much of a victory. After all, this was the man who'd plucked him from the mouth of hell, a voice in the darkness, " _Sirius, stand up."_ Salvation in piercing blue. He slumped down into the chair before the large desk and rubbed his face with his palms.

"James always took care of us," Sirius whispered to his knees after a long pause. "Saved us from ourselves. Made sure no one was left behind. He's gone and look at us now."

"You're still here."

"Yeah. Five years too late. But you were here." And that was what made him so angry with Dumbledore he could scream. "Harry should never have lived with the Dursleys. Remus should never have been alone. And I thought-I believed that at least I could count on you to take care of them."

Perhaps it was unfair to place that faith in the tall man in the chair opposite of him. After all, Albus Dumbledore was only human. Somehow, Sirius had forgotten that simple fact.

 _War makes it difficult to remember._

Those were his own words. Words that he had written, eons ago, in a letter that he never sent. It was painfully ironic that they were turned on him now.

"I am truly sorry, Sirius."

That voice that had stilled the wreckage of Azkaban in his soul now dragged his eyes from his knees. Dumbledore looked ancient. Authentic remorse aged him far beyond his silver beard and wrinkled skin and puffy veins.

"I have made some very grave mistakes in my life, and I count this as one more. There is nothing that I can do that will amend for that." There was not even a dim twinkle in Dumbledore's steady gaze as he spoke. "I do not expect your forgiveness. But… I do hope that you will try."

Sirius stared. In his disappointment with the Headmaster, he had somehow not expected Dumbledore to accept his accusations. To apologize.

"I… I can try," he managed. And to his surprise, he meant it. Because, hell, if anyone knew what it was to be human, it was him.

The tense atmosphere in the office eased. A few muscles in Dumbledore's face relaxed and he gave Sirius a small smile.

"Thank you."

Sirius nodded, unsure what to say next. In the fatiguing release of emotion, he'd nearly forgotten why he'd come here in the first place. But it came back to him in a rush, so he said, "You had something to say as well."

"I do. Alastor tells me you're still looking for Remus."

"Yes," Sirius replied, mentally daring Dumbledore to question him right now. But the Headmaster had never been afraid of challenging Sirius. He opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, the phoenix behind him crooned softly. Sirius had almost forgotten the bird was there, but now it regarded him solemnly with a bright amber eye. Dumbledore contemplated his feathered companion as he spoke.

"There is a magical object here in the castle called the Mirror of Erised. Have you heard of such an object?"

"Er… no," Sirius answered, nonplussed.

"A mirror is meant to show your reflection, but this particular mirror shows something else. The deepest desires of the heart." The Headmaster paused and gave Sirius a piercing stare. "Do you understand why that is so dangerous?"

Sirius did. He jerked his head in assent, not wanting to voice the answer to the room.

"Then before we continue, let that be a warning, Sirius. You are learning to walk all over again. Do not lean on something that may not be there at all."

" _Can you walk?"_ asked the memory of Dumbledore in his prison cell. Such a simple question, yet he had leaned on the old man until collapsing on the dark shore. He had always expected it to be Remus for some reason. Remus to arrive and drag him out of hell. But he had not been there. Sirius swallowed any retort he had and whispered to the top of the desk, "Understood."

"Good," replied Dumbledore softly. "Then let us move forward."

Sirius snapped his head up to the Headmaster. Was that a twinkle in the old man's eyes? "You think the Priori Incantatem was wrong too?" he blurted.

"I believe that it takes a great deal of magic to fool an object such as a wand," clarified Dumbledore. "And I do not know if such a thing is possible."

"But you hope so."

"I am prepared for whatever may come, Sirius," mused Dumbledore, in a way that made Sirius wonder if he knew more than he was saying. Dumbledore had always known what to do during the war. He could be ruthless in his understanding of the bigger picture, seeing past death and exhaustion and heartache.

"Tell me what you know so far," instructed Dumbledore suddenly.

"That he's gone," Sirius replied immediately. Dumbledore gestured for him to explain deeper. "Mad-Eye was hunting the remaining Death Eaters. He suspected them of attempting to resurrect Voldemort, especially after what happened to the Longbottoms. You had already warned the Minister that Halloween did not mark the end of the war. Only a lull."

Dumbledore nodded.

"The night he killed Evan Rosier he began to wonder if they were still organizing secretly under some kind of leadership," Sirius continued. Hell, he had it almost memorized, every instance, every suspicious happening from Halloween to the day Liam Carmichael was found with a note shoved in his throat. "Mad-Eye already believed Remus to be in danger, but he did not get truly involved until Danny Carmichael was killed by Greyback. There was… there was one Death Eater in particular who was pulling the threads…"

Sirius trailed away. Knowledge of Pyrites pressed in on him, begging to be told. Their meeting with Mellie Carmichael still had him on edge, watching the shadows. But Mad-Eye insisted on keeping Pyrites' lies a secret. He cleared his throat, aware of Dumbledore's uncanny ability to read minds.

"Remus suspected he was being followed. He spent a lot of time out of the country or laying low, but… in December he just vanished. Then Liam Carmichael was killed."

 _Killed by a werewolf, not a Death Eater,_ whispered the voice in his head. _The only victims of magical violence in this whole thing are the Longbottoms._ _What if Greyback really was acting alone?_

"He came here that December."

"What?" Sirius said with surprise.

"Remus paid me a visit. It was a few weeks before he disappeared."

"And you… _you never said anything_?" Sirius felt his voice go up in volume.

"No, I kept our conversation to myself," Dumbledore replied, unruffled. Sirius barely resisted the urge to stand up and toss his chair across the room. The spike of betrayal was back. It was secrets like these that got people killed.

"You didn't even think to bring it up after he disappeared?" he asked with gritted teeth.

"Sirius, I know you're angry with me. As I have already stated, I have made many mistakes and there is nothing I can do to fix them. But I did invite you here to share this, so please listen."

Sirius crossed his arms and gestured for the Headmaster to continue. Dumbledore gave him a gracious nod.

"It was immediately after the December moon. He had been in Croatia the previous month for his job. As you probably already know, Remus was employed by Clausius Evaltas starting in February of 1982."

Sirius stiffly jerked his head up and down.

"He acted as a field researcher for the naturalist. Mr. Evaltas had been severely crippled after an an erumpent horn exploded in his home in 1976, killing his wife. The man had since isolated himself from the outside world, but returned to his love of magical creatures after a visit from his friend, Mr. Scamander. But, he could no longer travel easily and I suspect he developed a bit of agoraphobia after being a hermit for so long."

"So he hired Remus."

"Yes. Lyall initiated the process, and Remus enjoyed the job. Especially, I believe, because it allowed him to escape this country and his ghosts."

Sirius silently agreed with this assessment.

"His work involved many things, mostly making observations and passing them on to Mr. Evaltas. He was well suited for the job, as you can imagine. During the war, he was invaluable as a spy because of his natural ability to see below the surface of things."

Sirius twitched, hating the reminder of his mistakes. And that Remus, for all his intuition, had not seen Sirius in the end.

"He found something in Croatia that he did not expect," continued Dumbledore gravely. "He believed, and I agree, that he found traces of something much darker than ordinary research." The face behind the half-moon glasses was shadowed. "Voldemort was damaged by his encounter with a power he could barely comprehend. I do not pretend to know what happened to him; but he would have been formless, tattered, and weak. But not too broken to heal."

"You mean he… he found…"

"Not the Dark Lord himself," Dumbledore cut in. But there was nothing reassuring in his voice. He unfolded and re-folded his hands. "Just a trace of him. Magic always leaves traces."

"So he came here," Sirius realized. Because what else could Remus do? Sirius would have done the same, no matter his feelings towards the Headmaster.

"He did," Dumbledore confirmed. Thoughtfully, he eased himself from his chair and approached Fawkes. With a knobbly, aged finger, he stroked the vermillion plumage. His expression was pained. "But there was nothing I could do at the time, at least not publically. I instructed him to keep the discovery secret until we knew more. It was very dangerous knowledge and remains to be so."

"And then he was gone," Sirius murmured.

"Then he was gone," sighed Dumbledore. His hand dropped from Fawkes and his head bowed. The long silver beard dropped low on his robes. "There was one other topic of discussion that day. Have you ever heard the name Ileana Durand?"

"I… yes I have," Sirius said, his heart jumping. "She was a friend of Liam Carmichael. They say Voldemort killed her."

"They do. Remus found this interesting, especially since Voldemort had come to Hogwarts a few months before she died."

"Why would something that happened even before we were first years affect what was happening after the war?" Sirius wondered aloud. "Would it be her connection with Carmichael?"

"Perhaps so."

Or perhaps to someone else. This was the second time the foggy circumstances surrounding Ileana Durand's murder had come up during this investigation. Sirius' mind shot to Eurion Pyrites and suddenly realized that Dumbledore would have the answers that Mellie Carmichael did not. He would have been Headmaster at the time it happened. He opened his mouth, the questions tingling on his tongue. They could trust Dumbledore. They could...

But the man had a tendency to do things without explanation. To act independently, without consulting anyone. And usually, it was a wise course of action. But…

What if he compromised Mad-Eye's investigation? What kind of chain reaction would follow?

His reservations battled with his need to trust this man. To trust Dumbledore once again, like he used to… But before he could come to a decision, the Headmaster spoke.

"Whatever Remus was chasing… still roams on this earth," he said. "This investigation may take you into darker and more complicated shadows than death."

The atmosphere in the office thickened. Sirius sensed that all of the portraits were listening closely, not even daring to breathe too loudly. Fawkes could have been a jewel-encrusted statue.

"Yeah," Sirius said hoarsely. "I'm starting to get that feeling."

When he finally bid Dumbledore good-bye and began his journey down to Hagrid's hut, he tried to ignore his churning regret.

It was secrets like these that got people killed.

* * *

Sirius and Harry went straight to the Burrow after Hogwarts. Sirius easily caved to Harry's request that they ride the motorbike for at least part of their journey. He was craving the rush of air on his face after the heavy conversation with Dumbledore. The cold air swept away his worries, and the roar of the engine drowned out everything but adrenaline. But it was definitely colder up in the air, and once he realized Harry's fingers were turning red in the nippy air, he landed the bike and they apparated the rest of the way.

Harry was exploding with excitement about his tour of the grounds, especially the quidditch pitch. As soon as he caught sight of the Burrow, jutting crookedly up over the hill, he took off like a shot. By the time Sirius entered the cozy home, Harry had a rapt audience to his meandering monologue about the motorbike, Hagrid, Fang, and Hogwarts.

Arthur looked like a child on Christmas when Sirius took him outside and showed him the glorious chrome and leather contraption.

"Ooooh I can't wait to compare the engine to my… er…" Arthur glanced sheepishly towards the open door where Molly was glaring disapprovingly. "Er… schematics. Which I have in the shed. Yes. Sirius, why don't you follow me?"

Keeping a very straight face, Sirius did so.

The shed behind the Burrow was like a treasure trove of useless and forgotten things. There were shelves of wires of every color, electric plugs, batteries, gears, strange devices whose purpose was totally foreign to Sirius. And in the midst, a Ford Anglia with the hood open, revealing a complex muggle motor. Sirius could see the cylinders, valves, pipes, like a less sophisticated version of his beloved motorbike, which he was wheeling in through the enlarged door. Simple machines. Much less complicated than the tangle of his life right now.

Arthur passed through his domain, fondly brushing his fingers over the car and pointing out various things that he had added. Invisibility, flight control, built in shield charm. He was twiddling with a few muggle-repelling ideas, but so far had been unable to test them without alerting the Ministry. Or his wife.

"Bill and Charlie know about it, of course. Bill even helped with a few things. Likes puzzles and secrets, Bill does."

"He's a pretty cool kid," Sirius agreed, thinking of the lanky, rebellious teenager. "I think we would have got on if we'd been in school together."

"Ha, and get him expelled within a few months? I've heard the stories about you and your friends, Sirius. Thank goodness Fred and George will not be in school with the likes of the Marauders. I don't think Hogwarts could handle it."

"So we're famous then?"

"More like infamous. You should hear some of the stories Minerva has been telling Molly lately. The woman is not prone to exaggeration. But then you lived them so…"

"We were quite something, weren't we?" Sirius lapsed into silence. Arthur gestured to a spot where he could put his motorbike. They chatted about the inner workings and the marvel of muggle invention. But Sirius' mind was elsewhere.

They had been magnificent. And now they were just lost and broken like the muggle pieces in Arthur's shed. Because of one, terrible choice. Unable to keep up the fractured discussion of how he and James modified the motorbike, Sirius wandered through the shed, pausing to play around with a few broken spark plugs at Arthur's workbench without really seeing them. Voldemort and Peter lingered at the edges of his consciousness.

Arthur was watching him with that knowing gaze again. Sirius dropped the broken plugs and exhaled heavily. Instead of looking at Arthur, he studied them where they fell as he said, "Tell me about how you found Pettigrew."

"I was wondering when you'd ask that," Arthur sighed. He leaned back on the car, hands in his pockets. "Percy found him as a rat about a month after that Halloween. Pathetic little thing, shivering behind this shed. Percy had always wanted a pet, so we let him keep it. Called him Scabbers. He lived here for five years, getting fat and lazy. Hearing everything happening in the wizarding world without taking part. Wasn't a very playful fellow, but Percy still took him everywhere." Arthur's voice had gone unnaturally cold. Sirius suddenly realized he would never want to be on the bad side of this man.

"It was a good thing Molly was downstairs when it happened," Arthur continued. "Ron is who you actually want to thank for your freedom." A fond smile briefly broke his stormy expression as he spoke of his youngest son. "Fred and George were teasing him again. I guess the backstory is that Fred turned his favorite teddy into a spider a couple years ago. Ron developed a rather strong phobia of arachnids as a result. Something that, of course, his older brothers capitalized on-"

"Wait, he turned his teddy into a spider?" Sirius interrupted, amazed. "How old was he?"

"Five. Impressive, I know," Arthur said dryly. "Not that I told him that. Ron broke his toy broomstick, he got angry, and somehow, that was the result. Apparently my children are quite precocious. Ron included. A few weeks ago, Fred and George's teasing about spiders got out of hand and Ron had had enough. They'd managed to ratnap Scabbers from Percy and were trying to convince him that Scabbers was actually a giant spider that they'd turned into a rat. Well, Scabbers squirmed, Ron startled and screamed, and, according to Molly who had just arrived to intervene, there was a flash. Suddenly there was a strange man in the sitting room with her three children. So, she did what any protective, sensible mother in that situation would do." Arthur gave Sirius a shark-like grin. "She wacked him over the head with her frying pan and then stunned him for good measure."

Sirius barked out a quick laugh. "I knew I loved your wife."

"She's a force to be reckoned with," Arthur agreed. "That was on March eighteenth. I was called home of course and there was a confusing whirlwind of hearings and questions. Then, next thing we knew, the wizarding world was being informed that the mass murderer Sirius Black was being exonerated of his crimes. He was framed by none other than Percy's pet rat, an animagus called Peter Pettigrew. Who was supposed to be Black's victim and friend."

Sirius swallowed. The compassion in Arthur's voice was hard to hear. "Yeah, well, apparently not," he said hoarsely. For once, he was not feeling anger towards the sensitive blond boy who used to have a place in his heart. Only loss. Arthur was studying him with fatherly blue eyes.

"You lost quite a bit that day," he said softly. "Your friends, your assurance that you could trust them, your godson, your freedom-"

"List 'em all out, why don't you?" Sirius rasped, desperate to get Arthur to stop. The question was supposed to sound flippant, but it emerged too raw. The red-haired man was peeling back his layers with unnerving accuracy.

"I'm sorry," Arthur apologized. "But you need to know that you don't have to be okay all the time."

"I do, though," Sirius said wearily. "Harry-"

"Will be fine if you need to break every once and awhile. You're only human, Sirius. You can't deal with this by shoving it away and plowing through life like a lone ranger. You need to talk to someone."

"You offering?" Sirius asked weakly.

"Only if I'm the right person," Arthur replied in an even voice.

Sirius shrugged. He did not know who the right person was. Well, he used to know. But one was dead and the other was… unreachable.

Tentatively, he examined the possibility of letting the Weasley patriarch in. He had begun to understand something about Arthur, who was almost falling into a role of older brother. He needed no mask. He was refreshingly unafraid in that way; authentic in a manner that was rarely appreciated. It made Arthur vulnerable, with his lack of ambition, his love of muggles, his openness to the unexpected as a father. But courageous. Sirius inhaled through his nose, trying to loosen the tangled knot inside of him, knowing that no matter what he said, Arthur would accept it without judgment.

"James used to tell me that I wasn't very good at dealing with emotions," Sirius started. "Said I would knot everything up inside until I exploded. He was right." Sirius thought about his private, flaming explosion a month ago. The yard was no longer black, but it bore the scars. "I've screwed things up pretty massively. James or Remus always had to save me from my mistakes. Dust me off and set me straight."

"They sound like good friends," Arthur commented.

"The best," Sirius murmured.

"How did Pettigrew fit in?"

That was a loaded question. Sirius forced himself to remember Pettigrew as he used to be. As Peter. As Wormtail. Unsullied and watery eyed and eager to please.

"Peter was…" He searched for the right word. "Constant," he settled on. "Or he was supposed to be. Never really was the center of attention, but you knew when he was there. He was easy to talk to. Good listener. Remus and I…we had our fair share of issues between the two of us. James helped. Peter did not have many talents but… he could make things better. A lot of people used to wonder why we hung out with him. James and I were so popular and Remus had his mysterious allure going for him. Peter just seemed like this awkward, shy kid who struggled in class and followed us around. But he was more than that, he _fit_ , he was one of us…" He trailed away darkly. "And then… one day he just wasn't. I knew things got to him, he wasn't as fearless as the rest of us pretended to be. I knew that he thought we forgot about him, but I never thought… I never realized he had come to hate us so much."

"So not so constant after all?"

"No." Then the confession was pressing on his throat, begging to be set free. Not in the haze of the trial and dementors, but to this human person in front of him. His voice was quiet. "I thought it was Remus."

"Because he was a werewolf," Arthur stated. He was still leaning against his Ford Anglia.

Old protective anger rose in Sirius' chest, congealing as it met the acidic guilt in his throat. "Werewolves aren't monsters."

"I'm not saying that," Arthur placated. Sirius trusted that this was the truth immediately. "It is very difficult to be a werewolf in this world."

"Yes," Sirius sighed. The stone in his throat was not relieved. "And… it was pretty bad during the war. Voldemort had offered equality… But it wasn't just that. He starting leaving suddenly and coming back a week later looking exhausted. He told us he was spying for Dumbledore. I don't know why I stopped believing him."

"Everyone was losing faith in each other back then."

"But I promised him," Sirius growled. " _We_ promised him. We were never supposed to leave him alone."

Arthur was silent. There was nothing he could say.

"We became animagi for him," Sirius said to fill the silence. To cover his last statement which was lingering in the air for far too long. "So we could be there during the full moon."

"You used to run around with a fully transformed werewolf on the full moon?"

He'd finally managed to surprise Arthur. The red eyebrows went up to his receding hairline. Sirius gave him a ghost of his trademark grin.

"Minerva McGonagall barely skimmed the surface of the things we used to get up to in school," he said with a chuckle.

"Wait, you did this while you were students?"

"Figured out Remus was a werewolf by second year. His transformations were… unpleasant. He used to lock himself away so he wouldn't hurt anyone but… he hurt himself. We had to find a way to make it bearable so we became animals."

"How… how long?"

"Got it by fifth year."

Arthur actually whistled.

"I would love to see the look on Minerva's face when you tell her that."

"You missed it," Sirius said. "I broke the news on Easter."

"Bollocks." True regret passed over Arthur's face. "Well I guess you can make it up to me by teaching me about motorbikes."

Sirius smiled faintly, glancing at the bike and its beautiful leather and chrome. "Harry was quite disappointed that I wouldn't let him ride it." He shrugged. "Maybe when he's older."

"He and Ron seem to be getting on well," Arthur observed.

"Thank Merlin," Sirius agreed, somewhat wistfully. "He, uh, gave me the impression that he's never really had friends before."

"He's young," Arthur said in a comforting tone. "And Ron has only ever had his brothers. It's good for him to have someone else." The older man paused as if remembering something. "You had a brother right?"

"Yeah," Sirius answered, lungs tightening. "Regulus. He was younger."

"Did you get along?"

"Once," he said shortly. "But I was the Gryffindor rebel and he was the little Slytherin prince. We ended up on opposite sides."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I found other brothers." But Regulus had counted on him. James and Lily counted on him. And Remus… Outside, he could hear the Weasley boys and Harry running in the yard, shouting and laughing. He realized he'd been quiet too long, and glanced at Arthur. There was a strange expression on his face.

"What will you do if you can't find him?" he asked quietly.

"Reg's dead," Sirius said bluntly. "Got in too deep, tried to leave, so Voldemort killed him."

"I'm not talking about Regulus."

 _Oh._ Because of course Arthur knew he was searching for his lost friend, despite his attempts to keep it to himself. It was just the way Arthur was.

"Moony," Sirius murmured, nearly too soft for his own ears. Then, a little louder, "I need to be sure he's gone."

"And if he is?" Arthur pressed, holding his ground on the painful question. "Sirius, you can't keep going like this."

"Like what?" Sirius asked, an edge creeping into his voice.

"Like you can make things the way they were."

"I'm not."

"You _are_ ," Arthur argued back fiercely. "And it's killing you. You think I haven't noticed your exhaustion? That file in your drawer? Mad-Eye Moody dropping in on a daily basis?"

"That's none of your business-"

"What will you do if you can't find him?" Arthur repeated, loud enough to stop Sirius in his tracks. Arthur never raised his voice.

He needed to answer, to say something. But the words stuck in his throat. Blocked by foreboding, by anger at the suggestion that he let Remus go, the annoyance that this was the second time today that someone had confronted him about it.

But before he could come up with an excuse, they were interrupted by a shift in the light.

Arthur's magical bulbs had a dull golden illumination, but a source of pure white, undulating light sharpened the shadows in the shed. Everything was boldly thrust into sharp relief.

Sirius straightened and stepped around the workbench. Adrenaline leaked into his veins when the source streaked between him and Arthur, solidifying into a wolverine. The voice growled somberly against his ears.

" _Black, come to Knockturn Alley now if you can. You should see this."_

Sirius looked up to Arthur, his heart rate speeding up. It had been a long time since the Order members had used patronuses to send messages, but it still sent a thrill through his nerves. In the sharp shadows, Arthur looked much older, his eyes reflecting the silver patronus.

"We'll watch Harry," he said quietly. "Go on."

"Thanks."

He drew his wand, picturing the dim entrance to Knockturn Alley in his mind.

"And Sirius?"

"Yeah?"

"Just… be careful."

* * *

 **a/n: Some of my readers may know that I'm a cliffhanger junkie. So sorry... especially since I've been delayed in updating. But that will make it so much better when I finally do! Hope to hear from you guys! (And again, thank you to everyone who reviews/favorites/follows. You are amazing.)**


	13. Broken, Whole

**Hi there! Shorter chapter today, but I wanted to get this out a little quicker than usual because (a) I left you with a cliffhanger and (b) I'm going to be pretty busy in the coming weeks (#perpetualstudent). Huge thank you to everyone who reviews! You all make my day!**

 **-Cat**

* * *

Chapter 13

Broken/Whole

 _June 2, 1982_

"No change?"

"The damage is permanent, I'm afraid. Magic cannot heal all wounds, especially ones like this."

"Not even time?"

"It's been seven months. There's nothing we can do except provide the best care possible."

Exhale.

"Thank you."

Then he was left alone. Except not completely. He conjured a plain vase, thinking of how Lily would have been able to pattern it with facets and swirls like a crystal. After filling it with clear water, he arranged the simple June wildflowers in the neck. He'd gathered them in Germany, where Evaltas had sent him to the Black Forest. A sudden increase in erkling attacks had drawn the naturalist's interest. By the time Remus arrived (later than he had planned due to the red tape at the Ministry) the attacks had begun to diminish.

But he was still troubled by what he'd found instead.

Frowning, he tried to straighten the stems of the purple blossoms in the vase without success. The gesture seemed to fall short, but Alice and Frank probably would not care.

Remus had not visited since that day in November. He did not even know what compelled him to come now. He'd come straight from the Ministry, where the Portkey back into Britain had landed him. Except that he had counted these two people among his few friends during those final years. Perhaps it was love. Or obligation. Or guilt. Or loneliness.

He watched Alice where she stood, letting sunlight from the magical windows fall on her open palms. She seemed to be fascinated by the way she could not hold it, how shadows flickered across her fingers. Child-like. Frank was equally vulnerable, utterly still and relaxed in his bed, though awake. His stare was vacant, but sometimes it flickered, moved. Both lost inside their own heads. But in a way, Remus felt like they knew he was there. Perhaps not who he was, but that he was not a threat. Just a visitor, wanting only human kindness.

He had thought he'd feel uncomfortable here. That Alice and Frank's irrevocable change would be too alien, too devastating. But instead, their simple acceptance of his presence was a balm. He had not been this at ease in the presence of another human being since Halloween.

" _Anything you need, please come to us."_

He had not come expecting anything from them. But he had not known he needed acceptance from another person until now. No one was trying to fix him. Here, brokenness was the norm. Suffering simply was. Something to be endured, not ignored or explained away or corrected. The loss of Alice and Frank was still a hollow place, but it was not a shameful one.

Remus stayed longer than he'd intended, at peace with a silent visit. He pulled out some parchment and ink and settled himself into writing a few letters. The hospital had a small postal center where he could rent a few owls to deliver them. In one he responded to Minerva, keeping the promise he made to her in January. In another he jotted off a quick note to Mad-Eye, letting him know he was back in town, as well as a third to his father. Then he started one to Evaltas:

 _Evaltas,_

 _I'm following up on the letter I sent a week ago from the Black Forest. I did find something troubling later in the week. Many creatures in the forest seemed to have abandoned the area. It took some searching, but after hiking through the Forest, I managed to find one remaining erkling willing to speak with me. His English was not the best, but I got the idea. He seemed to indicate that the erklings responsible for the four attacks the previous month did not act of their own accord._

 _I was not sure what to make of this. Erklings rarely communicate with humans or with each other, and certainly don't have a tight enough community to defend one of their own. Besides, an erkling does not adhere to any morality. Why would he try to explain away something erklings don't see as wrong? As for what really happened, he was not able to provide an explanation for the others' actions. Only that "a shadow came over them."_

Remus paused, staring at the drying inked sentence. It had not quite resonated with him until now, when he had written it down. _We are dogged by shadows._ He shook his head and filed that away for later. He finished the letter quickly, signed his name, and sealed it with wax.

Alice had moved with the patch of light as the sun progressed through the charmed sky. Her hair was losing its color. It caught the light like white-hot filaments. Frank's gaze was on Remus' letters now. Remus smiled at him quietly as he gathered his things together, preparing to leave. When the letters had disappeared into his bag, Frank's eyes went up to the ceiling. They stayed there, unmoving even when Remus brushed his limp, veined hand on the covers in farewell.

"Goodbye, Alice," he murmured to the woman holding sunlight and blue penumbra in her hands. She did not smile or acknowledge him. But something did change.

She moved out of the light to the little chest of drawers at her bedside. Remus waited, wondering what she was doing. Her thin hands shook as she pulled at the handle of one of the drawers. But wasted muscles and loss of fine motor control made the task infinitely more difficult. Remus moved beside her and pulled it open gently.

Without a glance his direction, she removed from the drawer two droobles wrappers and a rattling box of Every-Flavor Beans. She reached out deliberately and pressed these into Remus' hands. Only when he closed his fingers around the odd treasures did she look at him. Her eyes were filmy and fractured. For just a moment, he could see the agony that eclipsed everything Alice used to be and was tempted to break eye contact. But she deserved more than that after the safety he had found here.

"Thank you," he said softly.

She blinked long and slow. There was no understanding or recognition in her empty gaze. Not for the first time, Remus' mind imagined the horror of the Longbottoms' final days. The irrational, inhuman savagery of the thing still shocked him.

Alice tottered back to the buttery yellow sunlight as if nothing had happened. Remus weighed the candy wrappers and beans in his hand, then pocketed them. After a final glance at Alice and Frank, he turned and walked through the ward towards the exit. But he was stopped by the same healer who had shown him in.

"I'm glad you came and visited," she said with a smile. "Besides Frank's mother and baby Neville, they haven't had many."

"I should have come sooner," he murmured.

"But you still came," she replied. "I know it was hard seeing them the first time."

Remus glanced at her, taking in the kind face with sudden recognition. In his haze of grief, he had nearly forgotten the healer who had assisted him into the permanent ward after the full moon.

"Remember me now?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said apologetically. "Sorry. I was… not myself that day."

"No need to be sorry," she replied. "You look better."

Did he? Perhaps on the outside he did. The body heals quickly compared to everything else. And he had more control over what was inside. The heartbreak was easier to hide. But he was still drifting, anchored only by a thread of determination to stop the Dark Lord from rising again. Dumbledore's words came back to him.

" _You will need courage."_

" _I don't think I have much of that anymore."_

" _You will find it again."_

He was not sure what he had now was courage. It was something piercing and absolute. Somehow, it was connected to Harry. To Alice and Frank. To Lily and James and Peter. Even… even Sirius, once.

How could that exist in the same world where people were tortured until their minds shattered? Where friends betrayed friends to the hands of death?

"Sir?" The healer was watching him with concern.

"Sorry… lost in thought."

"It's okay. I saw that Alice gave you something. Candy wrappers?"

"Yeah," Remus replied. "Is that…usual?"

"She started doing that a few months ago, but only to Augusta and Neville. It could mean she knows who you are. I hope you're coming back to visit again. It would be lovely for them to have familiar faces around."

"I think maybe I will."

"Good," said the healer. "I'm Healer Genie Applebee if you ever want an update."

"Thank you, Healer Applebee."

He nodded at her gratefully and left. Once outside, he paused in the deserted hallway and slipped the box of beans from his pocket. He spilled the beans onto his hand.

There were seven of them, all a warm, golden color, varying from pale flax to deep, rich caramel. Mystified, he picked one that looked like honeyed-mead, wondering if that was actually tasted like. He popped it into his mouth and immediately gagged. _Rotten egg._

He spit it out and vanished it. Then stared at the remaining six beans suspiciously. Deciding not to risk the rest, he put them back into the box and pocketed it, his brain pondering the trick candy. Healer Applebee had said the candy meant Alice knew him. Surely, it was nothing deeper than that. Alice and Frank were mad… their minds were broken…

Against his will, he thought of Sirius. They'd always joked about him being insane and now he truly was.

He was beginning to realize that he _had_ visited Alice and Frank out of guilt. Guilt he wished he could turn into anger. He could not make himself go see the one living person he used to trust more than anything. To ask the question he was afraid of asking. Why?

So here he was.

A group of healers passed him, gossiping about a coworker named Polly, whose birthday cake they were looking forward to in the lunchroom. Remus stared after them dazedly, their chirruping condescension nearly alien.

Shaking his head to clear it, he struck off in the opposite direction. The taste of rotten egg stayed in his mouth all the way to the postal room. Along with a bad feeling in his gut, like someone was watching him, even though he was alone again.

* * *

 _April 24, 1986_

Blood.

The smell of it hung heavily on the still air. It coated the back of his tongue, his throat, his stomach. He suppressed a gag. It had been a long time since Sirius had been assaulted with its cloying, metallic announcement.

Hot tongues of panic licked at him. _No, no, no-_

The air was stifling between the tall, grimy buildings in this narrow passageway. The scene was just past the entrance of Knockturn Alley, down a slim capillary that branched away from the main street. He elbowed through the press of people, reporters and bystanders jockeying for a view. There was a familiar, frenzied solemnity about them, an aura of aftermath. Already, gossip whispered through the throng like snakes-

"Found just hours ago…"

"-gruesome. Did you see what he did to him?"

"-all that blood-"

"-heard the vic's a werewolf-"

 _Werewolf._

Panic. _No. Merlin, no. He's already… He can't be…_ Sirius moved faster, more frantic. Those that recognized him stepped promptly out of the way. Making space, though the buildings were collapsing in on him. Finally, he reached the auror barricade. A bicep shot out across his chest, stopping him short, teetering on the edge.

"No bystanders past this point," ordered the harassed-looking magical law enforcement officer. Sirius pushed at his arm, not even thinking about replying. He needed to pass…

"He's with me, Gringley, let 'im through," barked Mad-Eye's voice. The arm disappeared and Sirius stumbled forward.

Bright balls of light overhead lit the scene harshly. Where the stone wall of the building on the right met the slimy road, the blood congealed dark red, nearly black in places. The stench strengthened, filling his nostrils, suffocating him.

"Black, over here."

Sirius couldn't respond. His eyes were held prisoner by the splatter of pitch against the gray. Voices undulated like he was underwater. The dark spot dilated, gaping to swallow him in a sinking, sinking, _rattling breath inhaling, mouth lusting, soul loosening-_

A hand clasped around his wrist. _NO!_ He wrenched blindly free and took two tripping steps backwards.

"Easy! Easy…it's me."

His vision was blocked by the cross-hatched face of Mad-Eye Moody. Both eyes were still, fixed on him. The auror moved slowly, reaching out once more. Numbly, Sirius registered his gentle grip on his upper arm. The fingers were large and strong, not wasted as decaying bone. Mad-Eye navigated him around to the other side of the pooled liquid.

Spots blotted his sight like dementors.

"Oi. Breathe." The hand shook him slightly. But he couldn't, couldn't, because what if it was- "It isn't him." Hissed in his ear. " _Breathe,_ Sirius _._ Jesus, you're white as a ghost."

He choked on the first inhale, the sickening, mineral taste salting his mouth. Then he inhaled again, letting oxygen settle the mind that was spinning out of control. The ambient noise resolved into conversations, clipped orders. A few reporters seemed to be shouting questions at him now, but he couldn't make out what they were saying.

"Sorry," Sirius whispered when he got his voice back. "What-"

"Are you okay?" Mad-Eye cut across him.

"Fine." The other aurors were shooting uncertain glances his way. Humiliated, he swallowed back the residue of fear. "What happened here?" he asked, eager to move on.

"Greyback," grunted Mad-Eye, still glaring at him suspiciously.

"But it's… full moon is tonight, it hasn't even risen-"

"That's how I know it was him," Mad-Eye interrupted grimly. "He doesn't need the moon to turn him into a monster. Already is."

Sirius felt sick.

"There's no body…"

But- _Merlin_ -the blood stained the wall in a sticky, globular streak-

"Already taken to the mortician."

"So why am I here?"

"Because the victim was identified as another werewolf named Abalendu." Mad-Eye was handing him a photo as he said this, gauging a reaction. Sirius stared at the corpse. Abalendu was skeletally thin, his eyes wide open. One was a milky orb, unsettling in the deep socket. His throat had been ripped out. Sirius grimaced.

"Should I know him?"

"I wondered if you might've. Guess not. He was a friend of Remus'. And now the second body that's turned up in Knockturn Alley connected to him."

Sirius swallowed and glanced at the amount of blood. It was enough that the werewolf was probably killed here, left to bleed out quickly.

"Time of death?"

"Few hours ago," Mad-Eye grunted.

"It would've been broad daylight," Sirius said with frustration. Anyone could have seen, but no one had come up as a witness.

"A blind eye can kill you," Mad-Eye muttered in agreement. "And too many have been turning a blind eye to dark places since You-Know-Who fell. Afraid to see what's lurking in the shadows."

"So this was not some interior conflict amongst the werewolves?"

"Could've been. But I think there's more to it than that. Look at his wrists."

Sirius squinted at the photo. The skin around the bony wrists was worn raw and bruised. And now that he'd noticed, Abalendu was dangerously malnourished even for a feral werewolf. "He was held captive before this."

"Yeah. Don't know why or how long, but that's unlike Greyback. He isn't patient enough."

Around them, aurors and officers were muttering to each other importantly. No one was listening to their conversation. So Sirius lowered his voice and asked, "Do you think… Pyrites could have had something to do with this?"

"I think that I have a trail of bodies that are connected. And all of them were killed by werewolves." Mad-Eye scowled and rubbed the back of his neck with a gnarled paw. "Honestly Black, the last magical attack I investigated related to this case was the Longbottoms. If Pyrites were involved, he doesn't like getting his hands dirty."

Sirius nodded in agreement, those clean white gloves flashing in his mind. "Did you-"

"I did," cut in Mad-Eye, anticipating the question. "They have the Wizengamot holed up in the Ministry for the next few days, arguing about improvements to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Apparently it took an innocent man rotting in prison for four years to get them off their asses and making the amendments Dumbledore's been pushing for for years." He shook his head in annoyance. "Anyway, there's no reason to connect Pyrites to this. But that doesn't mean he isn't working behind the scenes."

"No. It doesn't," Sirius mused aloud. But without anything more to add to the connection, he let the question mingle in the background. He took in their surroundings with a clearer mind, one that was not clouded by panic.

"Would they have apparated here or do you think they were nearby before it happened?"

"Working on that one," Mad-Eye answered. "Don't know if Greyback apparates. It's possible, he has a wand, but it's difficult magic, especially if he brought Len side-along. More likely they were nearby before it happened."

The auror crouched down, trench-coat sweeping the dirty paving stones. With his magical eye, he did one last sweep of the scene. "Oddly symbolic, don't you think?" he muttered under his breath, standing again. "First Carmichael with a message in his throat, then Abalendu without a throat at all. A threat? Or coincidence?"

"Feels like a threat," Sirius said in a low voice. "But to who? Us? That would mean they know we're looking."

"I'm sure they do," Mad-Eye growled. "Pyrites saw us in the evidence warehouse."

"But then why keep him a secret?"

"Like I said, I don't want him knowing exactly how close we are. He probably knows about Carmichael's note, but he's never checked out the evidence and I never released what it said. That's bound to make him nervous."

"Yeah," agreed Sirius. He handed Mad-Eye the photo. "If Greyback is working with Pyrites, they must have wanted something from Abalendu."

"Can't imagine what. Come on."

Without warning, Mad-Eye stomped through the throng of people like wading through a clogged pipeline, ignoring every yelling reporter like they were mosquitoes. Sirius hurried to stay in his wake, staring determinedly at the back of the bowler hat. They emerged in the main drag. A few reporters tried to follow, but Mad-Eye barked, "Back off. This is official auror business and I _will_ charge you with interference."

Immediately, they were left alone. They trudged out of hearing distance from the crowd, watched from the shadows by shady witches and wizards. Above, the jagged scar between buildings revealed a sky turning vermillion. Sirius sincerely hoped that Greyback was long gone. The moon would be rising in less than an hour.

"What now?" Sirius asked.

Mad-Eye gave him a shark-like grin.

"I could use a bloodhound right now. Think Padfoot could give it a go?"

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Sure… how did you know-"

"Lupin mentioned the nickname once. Didn't make sense until I knew what your animagus form was."

"He mentioned the nickname?" Sirius asked with surprise. The Marauders never exactly strove to keep their nicknames secret in school and in the early years of the war. But as things became more dangerous, the names became like a secret code, something sacred just between them and Lily. And now Harry.

"He was drunk," Mad-Eye explained succinctly.

Sirius clamped his jaw shut. _Oh._ He'd only seen Remus truly drunk once, and it was after his mother died. Tipsy Remus was hilarious. Drunk Remus… not so much. Deciding not to ask any more questions, he quickly surrendered to his canine form.

Smells flooded his senses like colorful lights winking in the darkness. Metallic blood, _strong._ Other things like a hurricane, sweat, sick, decay, damp, mold, sewage, nicotine, sulphur, perfume, old, new, layers and layers and layers. The excrement of years and years of dark magic and shady deals was a film over the whole place. The sifted and sorted until Padfoot could separate them into individuals. Knockturn Alley's stench like a soup of poisonous flavors.

Then Mad-Eye (tobacco, whiskey, coffee, curse-singed cloth) bent down and held out a scrap of cloth. Padfoot sniffed, inhaling dead leaves, mildew, and urine. Padfoot wagged his tail, trotted over cobblestone and found a faint remainder like a road. _Stomp, crack, stomp, crack,_ foot, not-foot, foot, not-foot, came Mad-Eye after him.

Ragged bundle startled, cursed at him, but Padfoot ignored, intent on the scented trail. Another ran parallel, a companion- _no_ -a detainer. His smell was dirt, cigarettes, blood, sweat. Alpha. Padfoot sneezed with disgust. They had hugged the buildings leaning in across the Alley, staying in the shadows. They had not come far. Padfoot turned into a murky doorway, pushing the handle with his nose and slipped inside. A ghostly bell tinkled deep within the shop.

Padfoot paused and glanced around with pale eyes. It was a shop of glass cases and locks. The displays were a collateral of darker obsessions. He'd been here before, he realized. His mother brought him and Regulus, long ago. Borgin and Burkes, seller of all items of nebulous morality and peddler of illegal goods. Mr. Borgin himself appeared moments later. Sirius let a small growl rumble in the back of his throat.

"Oi," he barked. "No dogs allowed-Auror Moody!"

The owners voice went from annoyed to shock. And perhaps a little panic. Sirius wondered what contraband he was concerned about. As far as he could tell, everything in here was worth suspicion. He glanced at a withered hand curled behind the dusty glass near his face.

"Mr. Borgin, apologies," said Mad-Eye, not sounding apologetic at all. "I'm sure you heard, there was a murder a few blocks down…"

Sirius drowned out Mad-Eye's explanation, picking up the scent of the two werewolves again. It wound through the displays, all the way to a blackened fireplace, where it stopped. He paused, taking in the multiple odors mixing with his targets. Silver polish, cleaning solution, decay, moths. And…and ash, parchment, ink, clean cotton, blood.

Startled, Sirius shot out of his dog form and looked around from his new height. He knew that combination of smells. It was the same odor he'd detected outside the his cottage.

The fireplace was set in a wall back from the grimy windows. The bricks were blackened with age and use. The mantle was dusted and sparsely decorated with candles. A large, age-spotted mirror hung above it, showing his pale and drawn reflection. But at least his hair was growing. It was starting to curl over his ears and tumble carelessly around his face.

He lowered his eyes to the ground, where there were multiple sooty footprints leading away from the fireplace.

"Is this fireplace connected to the floo network?" he directed his question over the merchandise to Borgin.

"Yes, it's a common exit… Sirius Black!"

"Yeah, yeah," Sirius waved his hand dismissively. "Did two men emerge maybe two or three hours ago?"

"Like I said, it's a common connection," Borgin said, evasively as he made his way to where Sirius stood. Mad-Eye followed, his blue eye studying each item he passed with suspicion.

"Maybe I should re-phrase," Sirius asserted pointedly. "This is an auror investigation and hindering it could potentially bring a charge of obstruction down on your head. I'm sure you don't want that to dampen your reputation as an honest business-"

"Fine. Yes," Borgin bit out. "One was bigger, scary-looking. Didn't like the look of 'im. The other was skinny. One of his eyes was white."

"Anyone else?" Sirius persisted. The smell of ash and ink and cotton was still tingling on the back of his tongue. Mad-Eye gave him a sharp look.

"No," Borgin answered. "Only them." This time it looked like he was telling the truth.

Not that that meant anything. Sometimes deceit looked like the truth. And sometimes the truth looked like a lie. And Sirius was always caught in the middle, floating between possibilities. Stay this desperate course or abandon it. Courage or fear. Broken or whole. Dead or alive.

"What about three years ago, January 1, 1983?" Sirius asked.

"Why would I remember-"

" _Think,_ " Sirius hissed. "Anything unusual at all?"

Borgin scowled at him, but rubbed his forehead in a mock show of deep thought. "Hmmm… was that the year that other guy was killed? You already questioned me." He pointed to Mad-Eye. "What did I say then?"

"I'd like to hear what you say now," Mad-Eye answered smoothly.

" _Fine._ Okay… It was New Year's Day, so most folks were still hungover in the morning. Shop wasn't open for business, but fireplace was still runnin'. Lot's of people comin' and going' by the afternoon. Like I said then, I wasn't on the shop floor all the time. I've got jinxes to alert me if anyone tries to take anything."

"When you were here, did you see anyone you recognized?"

"No," Borgin answered stubbornly.

Sirius had to bite his lip to keep himself from describing Pyrites. He shot a glare at Mad-Eye, blaming him for his forced silence. Mad-Eye shook his head imperceptibly, then evaluated the shop-owner with a calculating stare.

"Look, I've answered yer questions," Borgin snapped. There was a tic developing in his right eyebrow. "Don't you have other people to bother with this nonsense?"

"No," Mad-Eye replied, unmoved, brow furrowed. "No… in fact, this nonsense seems to have me coming back here very often. First, when I killed Evan Rosier in your back room. Then when Carmichael was dumped in your alley. And now this. What do you think about that Mr. Borgin?"

"I think you're paranoid," retorted Borgin. Was Sirius imagining his change in color? It was getting darker inside the dusty shop. Outside, the last of the orange was fading from the sky, a streak of burnished ochre just visible above the buildings across the alley.

"Paranoia is how I filled so many cells in Azkaban," Mad-Eye threatened.

"Strange people hang out in this alley, you can't blame me for it," Borgin spat back. Sirius did not imagine his change in color then. The man turned milk white. "You question the other shop-owners or is this just personal?"

"I can make it personal." The dying light cast eerie shadows on Mad-Eye's face.

"I'll report you for harassment," sputtered Borgin.

"I'm sure the Ministry will agree that you have become a common denominator here."

Borgin swelled with indignation, the tic in his eyebrow positively vibrating, but seemed to have no further arguments. As he deflated, he hissed, "You have no proof of anything."

"Of course," smiled Mad-Eye, like a crocodile. "Just… don't leave town, Mr. Borgin. Anything you would like to add Sirius?"

Again, the temptation to ask about Pyrites pulled at him. To at least describe his unremarkable features, from the plain face to the plain gloves on his hands. Even his eyes were plain when not reflecting light like miniature lamps. But then he thought of Mellie Carmichael fractured movements and the burning urge vanished like smoke.

"Just one," he answered. "Does the phrase 'verum argentum' mean anything to you?"

The eyebrow tic stilled. It was the only sign that Borgin may have understood beyond his short, "No."

"Sure about that?"

"Positive." His eyes never left Sirius'.

"You don't seem very positive."

Borgin's eyes flickered. "I am. Now get out."

There was a brief pause. Then they bid the shop-owner a frosty goodnight, then returned to the cooling corridors of Knockturn Alley. In the growing darkness, stooped witches and wizards scuttled along the culvert like nocturnal creatures. A man rocked on the ground. He cackled at the passers-by boldly, a crazed grin on his face as he sang, "Moon's arisin', your wolves are coming out to play, run away, run away! They the hunters, you the prey!"

They returned to the crime scene, the madman's song floating after them. The hovering witnesses and reporters were dissipating rapidly. There was a spark of anxiety in the air. Even the remaining aurors were solemn as they paced busily. Through the diluted crowd, Sirius glimpsed the bloody splash on the ground once more.

"You can go if you like," Mad-Eye grunted to Sirius.

"Borgin's a liar," Sirius said, needing to voice the needling thought out loud.

"Yeah," Mad-Eye agreed absently. "Good thought to ask about the latin."

"He knew more than he was saying."

"Which is why I'm going to post a watch on him and run a background search on any possible incidents connected to his shop," Mad-Eye responded. "Get going, Black. You look dead on your feet."

Sirius grimaced. Had it really only been this morning that he was introducing Harry to the Whomping Willow? Yelling at Dumbledore?

Speaking of Dumbledore… Sirius glanced over the harshly illuminated alleyway. Just hours ago, a man lay there, his throat ripped from his body. Spilling blood and keeping his secrets permanently in death. What had he known?

They had far too many secrets. And still not enough.

"I think we need to tell Dumbledore what we know so far," Sirius decided out loud.

"That's a change of heart. Thought you were still mad at him."

"I am. I'm trying not to be. I spoke with him today."

"Spoke or yelled?"

"A little of both," Sirius admitted, though he wasn't really ashamed of the yelling. "But keeping this to ourselves could be dangerous. Dumbledore was our leader in the war for a reason." He paused for a moment, wondering if he should tell Mad-Eye about what Remus had discovered in his last month. Dumbledore had never told him not to. "He told me something. Remus went and visited him in December."

Mad-Eye was silent, but glowered in a way that told Sirius this was news to him. Sirius briefly summarized the finer points. That Ileana Durand's death had come up during the conversation. And that Remus had found traces of Voldemort in his travels, proof that the dark wizard was still out there somewhere.

Mad-Eye inhaled sharply. "That _bloody_ -" he hissed. Then took a calming breath. "I _told_ him he was going to get himself killed, that he should come to me with shit like that. I bet Dumbledore told him to keep it secret."

"Yeah."

"Damn him."

Mad-Eye turned away, rubbing his mouth. It looked like he was trying not to punch the wall.

"Agreed," Sirius said. "But I think it would be better if we just work with him. I learned the hard way that keeping secrets from friends does not end well."

"You did…"

Mad-Eye turned back to him. He was frowning.

"What was that, earlier?"

"What?"

"You flinched. When I grabbed you."

"Nothing," Sirius said defensively.

"Nothing my ass."

"I thought it was Remus. You startled me, that's all."

"No it isn't _all._ Azkaban is no joke. Sirius, if you're having trouble cop-"

"I'm _fine!_ "

It was impressive how much Mad-Eye could communicate with just one eyebrow.

"We have bigger problems right now," Sirius tried again, shrugging jerkily.

"If covering up your own problems is a reaction to that Skeeter article-"

"It doesn't because I'm not having problems," Sirius said stiffly.

"Black-"

"Leave. It. Alone."

A tense stalemate followed. Sirius was breathing hard through his nose. Finally, Mad-Eye relented, though his jaw was clenched.

"Go home. We can tell Dumbledore, if that's what you want."

"It's not what I-"

But Mad-Eye was already stomping away. Sirius let out a frustrated growl and spun in the opposite direction. He took long, angry strides, winding through Knockturn Alley's gloaming darkness until he hit the open street of Diagon Alley. The lanterns here were lit and flickered merrily under the purple sky.

Sirius stopped to catch his breath. His racing thoughts slowed into unwilling realization. Mad-Eye was right. Arthur was right. And Dumbledore, too, which grated even more. He _was_ having problems. Problems related to the permanent cold Azkaban had left inside him. This wild chase was just another way to ignore it. To pretend it wasn't there.

" _You can't keep going like this,"_ warned Arthur again in his head.

"Yes, I can," Sirius said stubbornly. A few passers-by gave him strange looks. Rolling his eyes, Sirius drew his wand, preparing to apparate. Merlin, he would give anything for a drink right now. The Leaky Cauldron was right there…

He checked his watch. It was 8:45. Harry would be waiting at the Weasleys. Arthur was probably worried. The desire for a cool glass in his hand and the burning anaesthetic on his throat was hammering through him. He stared down the street, wand hanging limply at his side. It was one thing to share a friendly glass of firewhiskey with Arthur in the evenings… it was another to go to a bar intending to numb himself. He hadn't done so since before Azkaban. Alcohol had become one of his more… self-destructive habits as the war worsened.

But one drink couldn't hurt…

He took one step towards the Leaky Cauldron. But his gaze was drawn up over the rooftops, where a sliver of moon was creeping up like a single, accusing eye.

" _Moon's arisin', your wolves are coming out to play, run away, run away! They the hunters, you the prey!"_

The madman's chant sent a cold trickle down his spine. Shame mixed like poison with his craving. If Remus was still alive, he was fully transformed by now and tearing himself apart. And Harry was waiting for him.

 _Your wolves._ Part of Sirius was beginning to wonder if the madman was speaking about werewolves at all. Feeling sick, Sirius pictured the Burrow in his mind and disapparated.

* * *

The night stayed balmy and clear, and the full moon was so bright that it illuminated the dark living room in ethereal silver. Sirius left the lights off, choosing to stand in the giant blocks of moonlight that angled through the windows. He was heavy with too much information. The image of Abalendu with his throat ripped out was proving difficult to banish.

"Sirius?"

Sirius turned to see his godson standing in the entrance to the living room. In his arms was the stuffed dragon (whom Harry had christened Firebreath). Residual guilt crawled in his stomach.

"Harry? I thought you were asleep already."

"I couldn't sleep," Harry said quietly. He joined Sirius at the window and looked up at the moon. His emerald eyes caught the light and turned to pale jade.

"Is something on your mind, Prongslet?"

"Hagrid said that he brought me to the Dursleys when I was a baby on your motorbike."

"He did," Sirius confirmed. Harry glanced at him, then turned his attention to Firebreath, rubbing his tail between his fingers.

"But…" Harry stopped. Alarmed, Sirius noted that his voice sounded congested, almost as if he was holding back tears.

"But what?"

"Why didn't _you_ want me?"

"Oh, Harry, no, that wasn't it at all."

Sirius knelt down to Harry's level, knees sinking into the carpet. Harry sniffed and scrubbed his eyes with his fist. Wetness sealed his long eyelashes into triangles.

"Of course I wanted you, but… I couldn't take you at the time."

"Were you too busy?"

"No, no I was… I made a mistake. A huge mistake." Merlin, he wanted to be completely honest with Harry, but he was just a child. How much could he reveal without frightening him, or chipping away even more at his precious innocence? "I… trusted someone I shouldn't have. But he lied to me and your parents and everyone else. He did some very bad things and then blamed me. And everyone believed him."

"But it wasn't you!" Harry protested shakily.

"I know that. And everybody else knows that now, too," Sirius said, with more patience than he thought was possible at the moment. "But… it took a long time to figure that out."

"But what about your friends? Remus and Peter? Didn't they believe you?"

"They…" Merlin he hated the inclusive pronoun. But misplaced trust was hard enough to explain. To have to explain betrayal when he barely understood? No. He would have to do the more difficult thing, to pretend that Peter… that Peter… "They couldn't because… well, he was very convincing. And I kept too many secrets."

"But that's not fair!" Harry's lower lip was trembling, and his eyes sparked with a mix of anger and disappointment.

"No, it's not," Sirius agreed heavily. There were so many things he could add, each more parochial and unsatisfying that the last: _life's not fair, it is what it is, there's nothing I can do about it._ He did not think there was anything he could say that did not reduce what happened to a few trite words.

It wasn't fair. Peter's betrayal, the damn prophecy, the fucking Dark Lord had cost them five years, cost Lily and James the rest of their lives. The whole world was years ahead of them, and Sirius was left wrecked in the past.

Harry clutched Firebreath tightly to his chest. Sirius relieved his knees by switching to a seat, throwing his legs out and leaning against the glass window. Harry curled in next to him and studied the shadows they made in the moonlight.

"What if… what if people decide to stop believing you?" he mumbled, hiccuping slightly.

"What do you mean?"

"I… I heard you and Mr. Weasley talking a while ago. About stuff. About me staying with you and… and what people think."

"Hey, don't worry about that," Sirius said quickly, remembering his own panic at the twins' birthday party. He had hoped that Harry did not overhear too much of that conversation, but… Merlin, the kid had a good memory. "There's this crazy lady that likes to write mean stories about people in the paper and she wrote one about me. Besides, the people that matter don't believe a word she says."

Everyone except Sirius, at least. Azkaban seemed to be looming more insistently in his mind. He kept losing it when he least expected to…

"You were in the paper?" Harry sounded impressed. He yawned widely and leaned closer into Sirius.

"Ha, yeah, I was," Sirius murmured. He had hidden the paper from Harry, not wanting him to see that haunting, young, devastated face.

"Does that mean you're famous?"

"Infamous," Sirius said with a grin at the irony of Harry's question.

"What does in-infamous mean?"

"Er… famous for all the wrong reasons."

Harry just gave him a perplexed look in the moonlight. Then yawned again, making Sirius yawn and curse their contagious nature.

"Come on, junior, bed-time."

He lifted Harry up over his shoulder so that his legs stuck up in the air and bounced him all the way to the bedroom. It was probably not the best strategy to put a five-year-old to bed, but Sirius did not care. Harry was giggling uncontrollably by the time he was under the covers.

"You aren't going anywhere, Harry," he assured him one more time in a low voice. Harry controlled his laughed with a few shaky breaths. "Not while I'm still breathing."

"Good." Harry relaxed back into his pillows. Sirius felt like something had been lifted from the child. A wall that Harry had built to protect himself was thinning.

"Goodnight, Harry."

"'Night. I love you," whispered Harry sleepily.

Sirius froze, his heart doing a funny flip flop in his chest.

"I love you too, Harry," he whispered back, feeling a little more whole.

* * *

 **a/n: Thanks for reading!**


	14. Chains, Liberties

**I'm Alive!**

 **I am so so so sorry for how long it's been since I last updated. After finals, I started a new job in a lab and it turns out, that takes up a lot more time than I thought it would. Plus I had a few life changes and I moved. I have still been writing this story, but my editing process is much more time-consuming than my creative process, ergo, nothing has made it online. So don't panic, I _do_ intend on finishing this story, it just might take longer than I originally planned. **

**I wanted to post this chapter because (A) you deserve it after that several month long wait, and (B) to let you all know why it's taking so long. I apologize in advance, because I'm still trying to figure out how to balance everything and unfortunately fanfiction can't really take priority over some things. So updating will be a little harder for me.**

 **But thank you so much for everyone who read and reviewed during my unplanned hiatus! I appreciate your comments and thoughts so much!**

 **So, enjoy this loosely edited chapter and I promise that there will be more to come :)**

 **-Cat**

* * *

Chapter 14

Chains/Liberties

 _October 5, 1982_

Remus watched listlessly as the Magical Law Enforcement officers tore through his apartment with all the grace of an insulted hippogriff. It wasn't that he did not care about his things. It was that there was nothing he could do to stop the chaos.

"What the hell is this?"

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. Ever seen them before?"

"Why only the gold ones?"

"Hufflepuff pride."

"I was five years above you at Hogwarts, Lupin. You were a Gryffindor."

"Aw, you remember me, I'm touched," Remus deadpanned. He did not recognize the officer at all.

"Don't flatter yourself, the four of you were hard to miss. Answer my question."

"Don't like the color yellow," Remus shrugged, trying his best to look casual. To conceal the panic as the officer shook the box and glared at him suspiciously. But eventually the officer tossed it in the corner and Remus exhaled. It was one of the few possessions he treasured, simple because of where they were from.

"This is… quite the luxurious accomodation for someone of your… status," rumbled a deep, mocking voice from behind him.

Remus closed his eyes and gathered his patience. Then he faced the tall auror shadowing his humble living room.

"I'm not squatting here if that's what you're implying."

"No, your landlord confirmed that it was your name on the lease," replied Augustine Burke with his robotic professionalism. "But I am curious whether your income is honestly earned."

"You're asking if I presented my employer with that ridiculous licence."

Hard, probing stare.

"He's aware of my status."

"We'll check that when we're done here."

"Fine," Remus sighed. There was a smashing sound from the bedroom and Remus winced, wondering what had broken. He prayed it wasn't the bed. "Don't you have something better to do than to trash my apartment? Or were you demoted?"

"Trust me, Lupin, I want to be here."

"Right. And why is that, exactly?"

"Saul Croaker." Burke paused for effect. There was none.

"Don't know him," Remus said. "But I read about him in the paper a week ago."

Still, he felt a little wrong-footed. He'd only returned to England a day before his recent transformation. Saul Croaker was an Unspeakable. Last Monday, he was discovered early in the morning in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic muttering nonsense. _The Daily Prophet_ reported that, after being administered several calming draughts, Croaker was escorted home to recover. He must have missed something while traveling…

"He's dead," said Burke.

"I thought he was recovering," Remus said, shocked.

"Not anymore."

"I'm sorry, I don't see what this has to do with me." Inexplicable dread was gathering like frost along his spine, specifically in the bruised areas from two nights ago.

"He wandered out during the full moon."

Resignation solidified, but outrage was threatening to tip the balance. He struggled to keep his face blank. _For Heaven's sake…_ "So… what is this? Intimidation? Power play?"

"This is an investigation," Burke replied coolly. "And you're a suspect."

"Why? Because I'm easy pickings?" Remus retorted. Heat rose to his face despite his efforts to remain calm. "After all I'm probably one of the only registered werewolves with an apartment to ransack since the rest are likely homeless because of that piece of paper."

"Sounds like you have a bit of a grudge against the Ministry."

Remus took an angry step towards the man and immediately four wands were pointed directly at him. Curling his hands into fists, he took a deep breath. Then a few more.

"Stand down," he said quietly to the MLE officers. "I was just… it doesn't matter."

Hesitantly, after Burke's nod, the officers lowered their wands. There was a triumphant glint in Burke's eye as he ordered, "Report."

"Search is complete, sir," stated the officer who had confronted Remus about the Every Flavor Beans. He was eyeing Remus stiffly. "Nothing unusual… I did find this."

Remus' jaw clenched when he recognized the envelope that the officer was handing to Burke. Burke took it and suddenly Remus felt like something was squeezing his lungs in a vice.

"That's private," he said softly.

But Burke ignored him, withdrawing the letter and scanning it, his eyebrows raising in interest. Remus felt like a dissected creature, watching Burke examine his organs and with scientific arrogance. The scalpel gaze turned on him after Burke read it through twice.

"'Solemnly Yours, Padfoot,'" he quoted in an oily voice. "Who is Padfoot?"

Remus swallowed and said once more, "That is a private letter. Who he is or was is none of your business."

"I think it just might be." The dark eyes flicked down and scraped through the words that Remus had memorized. "But I don't need you to answer. This is dated a year ago, mentions Pettigrew and the Potters. Only mention missing from your little group is Black. So by process of elimination, this letter was sent to you by Black. And you kept it this long. Why?"

Remus did not think he could have answered even if he wanted to. Sentiment was too weak of a word to describe the act of keeping the letter. Maybe it was pure compulsion based on a brotherhood that never existed. Besides, it was better to leave Burke's suspicion unconfirmed.

"You must miss him. But now the question is, do you miss who you thought he was or do you miss the real criminal? Did you know?"

"I've already answered that question, if you remember," Remus replied stiffly.

"Hmmm. And it was the truth as well. But truths can change. This is the second time you've come under suspicion for murder.

"You have no evidence."

"Yes, for someone with your classification-"

"I know, I know," Remus interrupted tiredly, mind spinning back to November. He could still feel the hard edges of the metal chair, the light-headedness brought on by dehydration and shock. "Would it matter if I could provide my location for the October moon? Or the paperwork stating I was out of the country when Croaker was originally…compromised?"

"It would, but unfortunately-" A slow smirk stretched Burke's lips, "Earlier you advanced on me before several witnesses. Perhaps I felt… threatened. Another interrogation could be warranted, especially in light of your apparent attachment to a known murderer."

A lengthy pause followed, during which Remus' mouth could not seem to cooperate with his brain. Then, through the ringing in his ears, he heard muffled sounds outside the door. Step, _thunk_ , step, _thunk,_ step…

Mad-Eye looked very calm when he entered, surveying the damage done to the apartment with an almost apathetic glance.

"Auror Moody," huffed Burke, taking a step back from Remus. "Let me guess, you wanted to be informed of this meeting as well? Gore signed off on the warrant."

"I haven't said a word and you're already on the defensive," returned Mad-Eye in a light, unaffected tone.

"I am merely compensating for your… blind spots."

"You shouldn't feel the need to compensate, Burke," replied Mad-Eye with an indulgent smile. "Besides, when I pointed out to Gore that you already knew that Lupin had an alibi for the other night, he agreed that a search warrant of the premises was unlawful. It's been redacted. So you are free to go explain to Gore why the Auror Department is going to receive a bill for the damage to Mr. Lupin's property."

Burke made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat and his gaze turned icy. The MLE officers shifted uncomfortably, heads going back and forth like they were watching a tennis match. Then, Burke rolled his shoulders and schooled his expression.

"Watch out for your pet, Moody," he warned primly. He shot Remus a nasty glare. "He has quite the temper. And, it seems, an affection for criminals." As he said this, he thrust the letter to Mad-Eye.

Mad-Eye took it with a stoic expression. Then, without even glancing at the contents, simply handed it to Remus, then watched triumphantly as the officers and the auror cleared out of the apartment. Burke went last, kicking a fallen mug as he went, sending it spinning across the linoleum.

"Bye bye, Burke," Mad-Eye called cheerfully at his retreating back. Then he rounded on Remus with a scowl.

"He got a rise out of you."

"He shouldn't have been here in the first place," retorted Remus. His hands shook as he refolded Sirius' letter and stuffed it back into its envelope.

"He has it out for you, Lupin. The least you could do is-"

"You're acting like this is my fault," Remus snapped. The rough edges of humiliation were back. He turned away from Mad-Eye and started righting the chairs that had been kicked to the ground with unnecessary force. The letter was swiftly stowed in the desk drawer. Remus wished he could slam it shut on his own uncertainties as well.

"His prejudice is his own fault. How you respond is entirely your own choice."

Righteous indignation surged through his chest then and he slammed the last chair down.

"I've put up with it this entire year," he snarled. "Am I not allowed to be a little human or is that out of the question for 'someone of my classification?'"

Mad-Eye didn't even flinch. Which Remus would have appreciated more if the wolf weren't clawing at his skin and bones for control. He breathed heavily through his nose and went for the mug that Burke had kicked.

"It's not fair, but it's the way things are."

"I'm sorry have you been degraded for something you can't control recently?"

"No."

"Then _do not_ try and instruct me on a reality I've been living with since I was four years old," Remus hissed.

Mad-Eye's jaw clenched and Remus turned away.

He placed the mug next to the sink to be washed. The cabinets were emptied, any dishes in disarray on the countertops or shattered below his feet. He kicked at a few pieces, which crunched and clinked.

"I'm sorry," Mad-Eye said finally from behind him.

"Not your fault," Remus muttered. The fight was draining out of him. He wearily drew his wand and started aiming it at random and saying, "Reparo." Mad-Eye watched him carefully for a few minutes, before joining him in the cleaning efforts. Remus grunted gratefully, and they worked in silence until the apartment was more or less back the way it had been before Burke and his officers had stormed inside. The Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans were carefully put on Remus' desk. Then, he surveyed his current living arrangement with a vague feeling of claustrophobia and hopelessness.

"You aren't thinking of leaving, are you?" Mad-Eye interrupted his thoughts.

"No," Remus replied before truly thinking over his answer. He did not want to explore what the truth would really be. But his brain was leaving him little choice in the matter. "That would require a mountain of paperwork that I don't have the stomach for."

"You can't give him the satisfaction."

"He'd find me wherever I went. If I did it legally."

The other, less than legal option was starting to sound tempting. But he quickly reminded himself of the misery of London's tunnels in January before he could entertain the idea for too long. Still, he was not unaware of a third option. Escape. Leave Britain completely. His brief trips out of the country could be made permanent. He could go to Spain, France, America…Hell, even someplace exotic like Malaysia or the Caribbean. He could leave all of this behind, find something better, remake himself, hide the wolf…

As if reading his mind, Mad-Eye said in a cautioning tone, "You would always be looking over your shoulder, Lupin. A fugitive, no ties to anyone or any place. Is that what you want?"

"No," Remus answered softly after a few minutes of contemplation. At least he didn't think so… but something was keeping him here. A child that anchored him to the world. Love… was a privilege in the life of a werewolf. But sometimes-and this was something Remus would _never_ voice aloud-sometimes, love was a chain.

The absurdity of the situation was starting to catch up with him, because he felt something strange tickling the back of his throat. Before he could choke it back, it erupted as a hoarse chuckle, which turned into an empty laugh. Mad-Eye raised his damaged eyebrow at him.

"Care to share what's so funny?"

"Nothing," Remus choked out, almost frightened by the fact that he could not seem to stop it. "Absolutely nothing."

He thought of Sirius and the laughter sputtered out. _Speaking of chains…_ The frayed edges of Burke's invasion of the letter sizzled on his consciousness. The end of October was looming like mortality, marking one year alone. And year for Sirius in Azkaban. How long did it take to lose one's mind in Azkaban? Would he even recognize Sirius anymore? Would Sirius recognize him?

Mad-Eye was solemn as Remus slumped down into his desk chair.

"There was luggage in the bedroom. When were you gone?"

"Went to the Austrian Alps. Missing hikers. Blood in the snow," Remus replied numbly. Then realized he did not answer the question and added, "Got back before the moon, was too tired to unpack."

"That sounds like the Austrian Ministry's problem, not yours."

"Except it involved a graphorn. They don't usually attack unless frightened or provoked."

"Maybe the hikers were rude."

"Maybe," Remus agreed, leaving his hesitations unvoiced. He thought back to the dizzying altitude, the perfect blue sky, the vista that took his breath away with its jagged beauty. And the unsettling quiet. Whatever wildlife there was, it had abandoned that mountain. It was eerily similar to the incident in the Black Forest.

Graphorns don't just attack harmless hikers. Recovering wizards don't just wander out of their homes on full moon.

Friends don't just betray the ones to whom they swore the loyalty of brothers.

And chains didn't just break.

"Does anyone know what happened to Croaker?" Remus voiced out loud.

"Before the moon?" Mad-Eye clarified in a heavy voice. "No."

Eventually, Mad-Eye left him in his dismal apartment, contemplating choice and cause and effect and the end of the month. Halloween approached like mortality. The anniversary of the end of his life.

Despite what he had told Mad-Eye, the instinct to run was strong.

 _We are dogged by shadows,_ Remus reminded himself. And some chains were too precious to break.

* * *

 _June 2, 1986_

The rain hid the coming dawn like a shroud. Sirius knew it was coming. Mornings were earlier and earlier as May progressed into June. The darkness outside was shifting almost imperceptibly. And there was birdsong amidst the sound of droplets pattering on his window and on the walls.

A small freedom. Walls which he could pass into the rain.

He was in his bed this morning, long legs tossed out over the edge, parallel with the floor. His covers and sheets were in a tangled mess at the end of the mattress and his pillow between his back and the wall. The lamp on the bedside table was glowing a soft orange that reflected his face at him from the indigo-tinted window. The skin under his eyes was permanently stained and a painful pressure already gently pulsing against his temples.

Headaches from sleep deprivation were becoming a common factor in his life. He owl-ordered his own potion ingredients to brew himself more headache solution. Harry loved to watch with wide emerald eyes, asking questions or gasping as the potion or the vapor changed colors. Sirius was not a perfect potion-maker, as his attention span was approximately the time it took to set the cauldron on a conjured flame, but at least the theory came naturally. Harry asked surprisingly good questions for a five-year-old, so it helped keep Sirius on task. Thus, his headache solution was perfectly brewed.

He eyed the drawer containing the individual doses, but decided to wait a little longer. Perhaps he would fall back asleep. Just for the last lingering hours of night. But although the potions rid him of any aches and pains in his physical body, his brain would not settle. It flip flopped between chaotic hurricanes and a blankness so disturbing, he would stand and walk around his bedroom just to assure himself he was still living.

Lately, his dreams had been of Peter. His conversation with Arthur had changed something regarding the traitor. For so long, he had used anger to bar the hurt. But anger was not enough anymore. His own words had shattered that reality. " _Peter was…constant. Or he was supposed to be… I never realized he had come to hate us so much."_

The problem was, he no longer recognized what reality was. He'd only been out of Azkaban for two months and everything was a confusion of lies and half-truths. Was this really what freedom was like? Or had he just traded one prison for one of a different sort?

Not that he was complaining. He'd take the nightmares over Azkaban any day.

He glanced to the open memo book on his mattress. It was filled with Remus' neat notes, mostly regarding werewolf packs throughout Britain and the whereabouts of Fenrir Greyback during the last year of the war. Because of course he had been spying on the werewolves. He was practically handmade for the job. And Sirius had been the idiot who'd assumed those absences were something far more sinister.

A memory rose in his mind, of coming home to an evasive Remus, lying about being fired from another job. Sirius had let him lie until a truth was spoken aloud that he never wanted to accept.

" _I can't have the kind of life you want for me, Padfoot."_

That had filled him with fear. A moment that sent him spiralling into wondering if perhaps the Marauders would not be enough to save Remus from his own despair.

But Remus had not been talking about losing hope at all. Sirius understood that now. Remus' notes from that day, August 19, 1981, spoke of a werewolf colony running him out for being a spy for the Order of the Phoenix. Remus had been fighting all along.

Sirius slipped the pages past one after the other, occasionally noticing a notation from a man called "A". That must have referred to Abalendu, the skinny victim of Greyback from last week.

Then began the notes after Halloween. There was a long break before two lists appeared under the date January 2, 1982. Death Eaters: _Rosier (d), Rookwood (p), Lestranges (p), Crouch Jr. (p), Greyback, Unknown._ And victims: _Frank, Alice, Danny Carmichael._ There was a brief timeline showing when Liam Carmichael disappeared, then when he reappeared. Then, dated late November a brief statement: _He is alive._

The notes increased suddenly from this point. Vague descriptions of a person told Sirius that Remus knew he was being hunted. A warning from Greyback was transcribed, the original missive apparently destroyed. A frustrating amount of shorthand that Sirius couldn't decipher. Then the name _Ileana Durand._ A question: _What did she know?_

And one final, cryptic note. _BBBs_ _._ It was underlined, marked as important, quickly scrawled at the top of a page.

But nothing more.

Nothing about Pyrites, no mention of silver or truths. Sirius flipped through the blank pages at the end with frustration. Whatever else Remus discovered, it was not here.

Sighing, he tossed the memo book back onto the bed. _BBBs._ He pulled open the drawer of the bedside table and felt around until his hands closed on a small cardboard box. It rattled as he settled back on the mattress. Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. Once more, he spilled the six beans onto his palm. The tangerine lamplight warmed the many shades of yellow.

When and where did Remus get these? Did he sort them himself? Or did someone else?

Sirius rolled one around with his index finger. Then, impulsively, he popped it into his mouth. He coughed it out almost immediately in a disgusting booger-colored glob. Gross. Now it looked exactly like the taste. Which had not helped the pain in his head.

Sirius wrinkled his nose and decided to get up and make coffee. Perhaps the caffeine would stop this headache in its tracks. He left the evidence and memo book and notes in the tangled mess of his bed and padded barefoot down the carpeted hallway, careful to make no noise outside of Harry's door. He reached the kitchen in the darkness, narrowly avoiding stubbing his toe on the door jam.

A huge shadow moved in the lightening gloom.

The hair stood up on the back of Sirius' neck. His wand was half drawn when a voice rumbled, "Relax, Black, it's me."

The lights flicked on, revealing Mad-Eye comfortably settled in one of the creaky kitchen chairs. His prosthetic leg was propped on another comfortably. Sirius resisted the urge to swear at him, but it did not stop him from making a rude hand gesture as he roamed to the kettle.

"Get bored of wandering outside?" Sirius asked.

"I'm not on Potter-watch tonight."

"How long are you going to make the aurors patrol out there at all hours?"

"Until I'm satisfied." Mad-Eye took a long swig from his flask after he said this. Sirius raised an eyebrow.

"Bit early for drinking, isn't it?"

The clock read 5:47 a.m. Once upon a time, Sirius would have been a hypocrite for this observation. And if it weren't for Harry, this would definitely still be the case.

"Not for me," shrugged Mad-Eye. "Been working all night. Here's the file you requested. Ever incident report that was connected to Borgin and Burke's in the last five years. Enjoy."

The auror slapped a thick folder on the table. Sirius picked it up and flipped through the various reports with a vague feeling of despair. There had to be hundreds in here…

"Is this what you were doing all night?" he wondered aloud.

"Nah, had a probie do it for me yesterday."

Mad-Eye tossed back another swallow before screwing the cap back on and stowing it away. Then he shifted his weight forward over his bent knee. Shadows gathered in the crevices of his face.

"Did you ever work with Augustine Burke?"

"Once or twice, I think," Sirius remembered. "No sense of humor. Ambitious."

"Right. He wasn't happy that Scrimgeour was appointed Head Auror instead of him. But that's not why I bring him up. He was not… overly fond of Lupin. Combination of unfortunately timed encounters and pre-existing prejudice."

"I'd noticed," Sirius said darkly. It was in the reports in Remus' file. Burke was the auror that lead the interrogation after Halloween, as well as the follow-up after Danny Carmichael was killed.

"He checked out the evidence box for Liam Carmichael's murder yesterday."

Alarmed, Sirius straightened. "What? Why?"

"That's what I was trying to find out last night. He returned it after about an hour. Nothing was removed from the box."

"But he still looked through it. Why would he…" Sirius trailed off, feeling the beginnings of mild panic. "Is he a Death Eater?"

"I doubt it," Mad-Eye answered gruffly. "Put too many of them behind bars to be too friendly with them. But that doesn't make him a good person. I don't like that he's sniffing around the case. Timing's strange. He never showed any interest during the initial investigation."

"Someone tipped him off," Sirius muttered.

"So much for playing our cards close to the chest."

"The werewolf was never found. If he accuses Remus…"

"Yeah. He hasn't done anything yet, but I don't like it. This is too soon after our little chat with Mr. Borgin. Burke is a distant relative of the store's founders. Could be that they're in touch."

"Do he and Pyrites know each other?"

"They were aware of the other's existence. In fact, Pyrites was there when Remus was brought in in December."

Sirius' head gave a particularly nasty throb. Rubbing his temples, he struggled to pull his hazy, exhausted recollection of the case together. "Can you do anything?"

"Besides wait for Burke to make a move? No. Don't want to tip him in the wrong direction. But if they are working together… you remember what I said about Pyrites making the connection to Carmichael's note?"

"Yeah," Sirius muttered. "If they're working together, it's possible that Pyrites now knows what the note says."

"Our window of secrecy could be all but obliterated," Mad-Eye grunted.

Sirius was silent, mind spinning as he prepared his coffee. But his thoughts still would not focus. They fluttered incoherently like dead leaves. Distantly, he felt the beginnings of worry. Maybe the many nights without sleep were affecting him much more than he thought. He did, however, manage to maintain one.

"Did Remus ever mention a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans to you?"

Mad-Eye gave him an incredulous glare. Then, when he realized Sirius was, in fact, serious, he asked, "You okay, Black?"

"Dandy. Did he?"

"No, not that I recall. What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing. Nevermind." The detritus of Remus' disconnected notes still pushed disconcertingly on his brain. _He is alive._ Sirius swallowed down a bizarrely strong urge to check on Harry. "And… our personal sentinels-no one has seen or heard anything?"

"You and Harry remain undetected, Black. Even the press doesn't know you're here."

But that wasn't entirely true. Someone knew. Someone who had also been to Borgin and Burke's. Sirius suppressed a shudder.

"You sure you're alright?"

"Yeah," Sirius responded distantly.

"Okay…" Mad-Eye did not look convinced. "Well… I'm going to go catch a few hours then go back to the office. So no duelling practice this morning. We'll get back to that tomorrow. And don't worry about coming in today, it will mostly be paperwork."

Sirius acknowledged this with an absent nod. As he prepared for full reinstatement as an auror, he'd started spending the afternoons in the auror office helping Mad-Eye with a recent increase in shady activity that could possibly be connected to unnapprehended Death Eaters. Harry would go to the Weasleys, where Sirius would return for dinner. Sirius was actually (surprisingly) improving as a cook, but it was nice to have the company of family at the end of the day. Afterwards, Sirius and Arthur would sometimes abscond to the shed, or just share a glass of firewhiskey outside while the sun set and the stars popped into existence overhead.

"Black. _Black._ "

"Yeah, sorry?" He was still stirring his coffee absently.

"Put that bloody stuff away and go to bed for at least another hour," Mad-Eye snapped. "Your head's not on right."

Sirius rolled his eyes, then winced at the sharp stab of pain through both temples. "Fine." He set the ceramic mug down. For once, he actually intended to take Mad-Eye's advice.

"I'll keep you updated. Take it easy, Black."

* * *

Sirius woke after a brief two hour stint in bed not feeling very well-rested. The sun had risen warm and pink, evaporating a film of dew from the windows. Harry was already awake and concentrating on a batch of scrambled eggs, balanced precariously on a stool he'd pulled up to the stove. They'd settled into a comfortable routine of life. Mornings were spent with Harry doing his workbooks and Sirius brushing up on his knowledge for his reinstatement exams, then duelling Mad-Eye. But Mad-Eye would be catching up on his lost sleep as well, so instead, they went over to the Weasleys once breakfast had been consumed and the dishes put away.

Lingering frustration made Sirius irritable the entire morning, so he spent the early afternoon as Padfoot instead, romping with Harry and the Weasley children and brooding in between.

Sirius found himself staring after his godson on more than one occasion, fear crackling like a miniature lightning storm in his chest. That single line in Remus' memo book, " _He is alive"_ sent apprehension shivering through his spine. His friend had been speaking of Voldemort, Sirius had no doubt. And now some nosy auror was jeopardizing his and Mad-Eye's investigation. It set his teeth on edge.

The fourth time he lost track of his conversation with Molly to check on Harry, he was midway through directing the rough chopping of vegetables for a summer stew with his wand. The flashing knives slowed to a standstill before he noticed.

"You seem distracted Sirius. Everything okay?"

"Just fine, Molly, thanks." It was a lie of course. But the dishonesty bothered him more than usual today. He just couldn't figure out _why_ it wasn't fine. He'd been so good at pretending up until now…

"It's not about the latest Skeeter article, is it?"

"No. Bloody cow barely got any of the facts right. Anyone who believes that Lily and I were having an affair is an imbecile."

"Of course. But misrepresentation hurts."

"Not worth my time."

"So it's something else then," Molly prodded.

Well, that was certainly true. The problem was, he was stumbling through this strange post-Azkaban world like a blind man. Unable to escape Voldemort's hold on his life. The fact was, Pyrites' apparent movements were driven by something.

" _Whatever Remus was chasing… still roams on this earth. This investigation may take you into darker and more complicated shadows than death,"_ Dumbledore had whispered to him.

A chill crept up his spine.

"Sirius, the carrots."

Sirius blinked. The knives were now decimating the carrots into a pulp. He unclenched his jaw. The rapid staccato ceased.

"I think we'll be making a carrot cake tonight," Molly hummed, glancing at him. Her eyes were crinkled with concern.

But Sirius just let out a sharp bark of laughter. Carrot cake. The suggestion was just so… normal. A perfect reflection of the paradoxes of his life. Molly's eyes relaxed into a gentler, perplexed expression. She shook her head and swept the abused carrots into a bowl, summoning flour and sugar and various other ingredients.

"You know how to bake, Black?" she challenged.

"Nope. But I'm a quick study."

"Could've fooled me," she muttered.

"Hey!"

By the time the stew was bubbling away on the stove and the cake was in the oven (they had to re-do a batter because Sirius had accidentally added salt instead of sugar), it was nearly time for Arthur to come home. Sirius glanced up at the clock with its many hands and saw that the hand with Arthur's face was still pointed at "work." The rest were either pointed at "home" or "school" in the case of Charlie and Bill.

"Do you think it's a little quiet out there?" Molly asked suddenly, glancing out the window.

"Hmm?" Sirius hummed from his place at the table. He was no longer trying to hide his work on Remus' disappearance since Arthur clearly knew. He had the Borgin and Burkes file open in front of him, disinterestedly shuffling through the papers and glancing at the dates at the top. With a small smile and mild disgust at his own studiousness, he thought, _James would be laughing his ass off if he could see me now. I'm turning into Moony…_

"They're too quiet," Molly said. "That's never a good sign."

"It's not?" Sirius asked cluelessly. He looked up from his notes.

"No, it's not."

She marched to the back door and went outside. Sirius followed after a moment's hesitation. Molly had already made it past to the garden gate to the paddock where the twins, Ron, Harry, and Ginny had been playing a version of quidditch on foot. Only no shrieks of laughter or children's voices were emanating from the wide stretch of grass.

The paddock was empty.

Alarm, sharp and blinding, struck Sirius at once.

"Where-"

"Oh there will be hell to pay when I get my hands on them," hissed Molly. Even in a patched apron and a smudge of flour on her cheek, she looked intimidating. And a touch fearful. Sirius' heart rate increased. Without another word, she made a beeline for an open gate on the east side of the paddock. The gate in the fence that marked the boundary of the Burrow's wards.

New anxiety washed through Sirius' limbs. _Harry._ He rushed ahead of her through the gate. A meadow was on the other side, dotted with spreading chestnut trees. There was no sign of any of the children.

Horrible scenarios chased themselves through Sirius' brain, each worse than the last. Death Eaters had discovered where the Boy-Who-Lived was and attacked. Harry was alone and afraid, Harry was hurt, Harry was- _No._

The fear was paralyzing. Smothering, sucking away all reason, all being. Was he imagining the chill or had the dementors found him in this empty meadow of swaying flowers? His wand was suddenly in his hand.

"This way, Sirius," said Molly's voice, breaking into his panic. "I know where they'd go."

She waded through the grass to a line of trees. A young patch of woods had gathered in a low valley. As they got closer, the distant sound of children's laughter reached their ears. It was like cool water rolling over his parched desperation. Both adults jogged into the cover of the trees. Down the incline, there was a wide creek that sparkled in the sunlight. And on the edge were four red-headed children and one with messy jet-black hair splashing each other and shrieking at the cold.

The relief was a kick in the chest that took his breath away. When he found it again, it rushed into his lungs with the acrid taste of anger.

"Harry James Potter!"

All five children startled and turned wide-eyed gazes at the two fuming adults making their way down the hill. Harry looked positively horrified, but in the moment, Sirius did not give a damn. Every single nightmare of Harry dying or being kidnapped or alone was bursting through his fragile shield. The messy-haired boy scrambled out of the water and hurried, dripping wet, towards Sirius.

"What the bloody _hell_ -" Sirius cut himself off before he swore too badly. Harry stopped and stared at his feet, trembling as cold water dripped off his pale skin. Sirius cast a quick nonverbal drying spell with barely a twitch of his still drawn wand.

"What in Merlin's name were you _thinking_?!" he yelled, his throat cracking. "I had no idea where you went! Molly and I set those boundaries for a reason, Harry! I cannot believe the utter-utter thoughtlessness-of all the stupid- _Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?!_ "

"N-no."

"Of course you don't! That's why you can't go wandering off!" Sirius ran a hand through his wild hair, taking a deep breath. Because Harry didn't know and he _couldn't_ know. God, he couldn't even explain now, that there were people, _evil_ people, who wanted him dead… "Harry, you could have been… You could have- _argh!_ Come on, we'll finish this inside the wards."

He grabbed Harry's hand (gently as he could) and stomped towards the meadow. Behind him, he could hear Molly's shrill voice.

"Absolutely no respect! Not a word from a single one of you, you are all going straight to bed after dinner. DO NOT ARGUE, GEORGE WEASLEY!"

"Well… it's Fred actually…"

"I DON'T CARE! ALL OF YOU. INSIDE."

There was a rustling as the rest of the Weasley trooped after them. The silent march to the Burrow was marked by a thick tension. Harry's hand was cold in Sirius'. It took until they were cutting through the chickens in the yard for Sirius to realize that the hand was still shaking.

Suddenly, Sirius felt sick. He released Harry's small hand as if burned and looked down at his godson. Harry was still staring at the ground, his black locks flopping heavily over his face, hiding his expression. But his visible lower lip quivered.

"Harry?"

"I'm… I'm sorry," whispered Harry. "I'll never do it again, I promise. Please, Sirius, I'll be better, I _promise._ "

"I believe you," Sirius said quickly, unsettled.

"You don't have to send me back," Harry continued feverishly, unhearing. "Please… I'll skip dinner and stay in my room for the rest of the week, just don't send me back."

"Harry, whoa, hang on a minute." Sirius crouched down, shoving a speckled chicken out of the way. "No one said anything about sending you away. Or skipping dinners. Yes, I'm angry, but that's just because I was _scared,_ okay?"

Harry sniffed, but his head tilted upward the tiniest bit. "Sc-scared?"

"Yep. That's all."

"But… but you were yelling-"

"Sometimes adults yell when they're scared. Stupid, I know… Look," Sirius sighed. "Some rules are in place for your safety. Trust me, I'm no golden boy, I get why it's fun to break the rules..."

The corner of Harry's lip twitched. His eyes came up hopefully.

"Doesn't mean I'm not angry anymore," Sirius amended quickly, schooling a half-hearted scowl onto his face. "And you _did_ break the rules."

Harry sobered immediately. Sirius did not miss the flash of fear now that he could see those expressive emerald orbs. He filed _that_ disturbing thought away for later.

"At Hogwarts, Minnie would give me some kind of detention for being out of bounds, so…" Sirius' brain scrambled for the best way to handle rule-breaking. He was not used to being on this side of the situation. Quite suddenly, he envied Minerva's deft, but justly handled discipline. Taking a leaf out of Molly's book, he said, "How about moving your bedtime up half an hour for the next three days?"

Harry looked surprised, but mildly relieved. "Okay," he said hesitantly.

"Okay," Sirius repeated, feeling inadequate. And shaken. What had Harry been expecting? "Um… go wash up. We're leaving right after dinner."

Harry moved swiftly to obey. Through the window, Sirius could hear the dishes clanking loudly as Molly set the table with more force than necessary. He stayed outside a while longer, staring out across the wards, the smell of burnt cake drifting from the bin.

He just caught the black speck against the paling blue sky as he turned to go inside. Pausing, he watched as the speck became more and more owl-shaped until finally, a small screech owl dropped down and landed on Sirius' ready hand. With a soft chittering, the owl dropped a short memo in his hand, then took off without waiting for a response. Puzzled, Sirius, unfolded the missive and read Mad-Eye's untidy scrawl:

 _Pyrites is in the wind. Doubling watch on your place and the Burrow. I've contacted Albus._

 _Mad-Eye_

* * *

 **A/N: Post a review if you have time :) Thanks for reading!**


	15. Words, Deeds

**I had to take a bit of a break from writing when the school year started, but I've finally equilibrated and am finding time to write and edit again. Good life news: I passed a super-important, career-deciding exam. Yay!**

 **To my reviewers: You guys are phenomenal! I'm sorry I rarely respond, but please know that I read every word and love hearing all of your thoughts, encouragement, compliments, helpful ideas, and guesses as to what happens next.**

 **Enjoy this next chapter,**

 **-Cat**

 **Disclaimer: I have to add a new one, because I kept forgetting on the past chapters. Pyrites is actually not my original character. If you knew this (shout out to Son of Whitebeard), kudos to you! Yes, Pyrites belongs to the queen herself, J.K. Rowling. He never made it into the books, but was one of the early characters that she created and never used. So, I'm giving him a story.**

* * *

Chapter 15

Words/Deeds

 _October 31, 1982_

 _Dear Moony,_

 _I hope you haven't died or anything, because we haven't heard from you in ages! Anyway, I'm at James' place right now. Harry's figured out that broom I got him for his birthday and spent the afternoon zooming around the living room. It's absolutely brilliant! He nearly killed Wormy. Lily is caught between hating me and amazement that he took to it so fast (I mean… he's only 15 months for Merlin's sake!). But James loves it. His son learning to fly instead of walk. He's been preening and showing off all day. Honestly, if his head inflates any more-_

 _Remus, this is James. Don't listen to a single thing he-_

 _Fuck off Pron-_

 _Language Padfoot, what would our dear professor say-_

 _FUUU-_

 _He only said those things cuz I was reading over his shoul-_

 _I fought him off (Lily did). Actually, everyone's gone to bed now, so no more interruptions. We've upped the protection a little more, but with the way things are going, Dumbledore thinks they may have to going into hiding permanently and soon (I can't really say much here, in case this gets into the wrong hands). They're doing okay. I know Lily has been having trouble sleeping. And James hates being cooped up here so I try and visit as often as I can. Peter too, he was here earlier. He seemed… not himself I guess. After what happened to the McKinnons… I guess we all feel a little off…_

 _Are you okay?_

 _Because it really has been longer than usual. You didn't say much during the October moon and you haven't come home since then. I just… I need you to know that we're still here for you, whatever's going on. We're brothers, all of us. You don't need to go off on your own or anything. I've said this before, but you do have a tendency to forget these things._

 _War makes it difficult to remember._

 _Ah fuck, it makes everything harder._

 _Anyway… I'm sorry. For that. And. I'm just… I'm sorry. Shit. I'm sorry that I'm probably not even going to send this. How did we get here?_

 _Come home, Moony._

 _Solemnly Yours,_

 _Padfoot_

The paper blurred and trembled out of focus. Something uncontrollable wrenched the cracks in him wide. The words- _his_ words-tore into him. Breathing hitched. He would spill out like smoke, like water. He threw back a molten shot of firewhiskey. It smoldered down his throat like quicksilver.

Inside of him, the wolf was far too close to the surface, too close to the fragile cracks. It snarled as the openings cauterized. Remus swallowed convulsively. It would be a bad moon tomorrow.

Outside, another firework exploded and echoed through his muddled brain. The villagers of Hogsmeade were celebrating. Celebrating a year of freedom.

For just a brief moment, Remus hated them.

 _Are you okay?_

He contemplated hurling the letter into the fireplace. But James' handwriting, spiky and untidy, stopped him.

 _Remus, this is James, don't listen to a single thing he-_

"I'm going to call someone for you."

Remus blinked and focused blearily on the barman in the dull light. His eyes were crystal blue and shimmered with sympathy.

"That's not necessary," Remus rasped.

"I think that it might be," he rumbled gently. He swept the shot glass from the counter and replaced it with a glass of water.

"Fine." Remus' disjointed thoughts swirled, muddied, then came together. Grief. Shame. What was he doing here? "Please don't call your brother."

"I won't. Who should I call?"

 _Call the Potters. Or Peter, he wouldn't ask questions. Sirius would just roll his eyes and settle in next to him. But at least he would not judge-_ He recoiled from the past, forcing his brain to pull together an answer.

"Alastor Moody," he mumbled, cringing inwardly.

"Mad-Eye it is," said the barman. A bright silvery goat erupted from his wand and bounded through the liquor shelves. The more sober patrons startled while the rest just blearily continued to contemplate their drinks. A raucous group in the corner cheered.

Remus let his mind wander away again. The hypnotic pattern of reflected flames on his water glass smoothly detached the worst of the memories, leaving him floating in impressions of the Gryffindor common room late at night. He felt dangerous, a risk-taker, letting his mind escape reality so completely. What if he never returned? Did he really want to? It was so much easier to rest deeply here, in plush crimson armchairs by the hearth, the Marauders lounging around him carrying indistinct conversation. An imitation of peace blanketed over him…

"Been looking for you."

Someone dropped heavily onto the stool next to him. The peaceful deception fragmented. He hastily stuffed Sirius' letter into his pocket.

"Have you?"

He pulled himself together by taking a sip of water. It didn't burn like he wanted it to.

"I have."

"Well, here I am." He gestured clumsily to his lonely space at the very end of the bar.

"How much have you had?"

"Dunno. Ask Abe."

"How much has he had?"

"Enough," replied the surly Aberforth, who was hovering nearby.

"Could always out-drink Prongs and Wormtail," Remus felt the need to explain. He was not slurring, so that was good. "Couldn't hold their liquor. But Padfoot must've had two livers or something. Makes sense. Had two faces too."

He scowled at his water. In his peripherals, Mad-Eye shifted and waved Aberforth away.

"What are you doing here, Lupin?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Looks like you're drowning."

Remus snorted inelegantly. That was hilariously accurate in so many ways.

"I'm self-medicating. Didn't try it until now, 'cause that's what Padfoot would have done."

"Yeah, you mentioned him. Who's Padfoot?"

"Black."

Abruptly, his mood swung back to despondent. Mad-Eye paused.

"I see," he said, finally. "Have you been here all day?"

"No," Remus mumbled.

"Where have you been?"

"Around."

"Lupin, if I have to sober you up, I will."

That sounded like a threat. Remus definitely had no interest in being sober right now. He exhaled heavily and gulped down more water, wishing it were alcohol. Mad-Eye was impressively patient as Remus carefully picked up the words he needed.

"Went to Godric's Hollow."

"I checked there."

"I know. I'm stealthy like that."

Now Mad-Eye looked annoyed. Remus felt a small amount of satisfaction.

"I was worried."

Okay, maybe he felt some remorse.

"Well you shouldn't have been. I wanted to be alone."

Mad-Eye gave him a rare, two-eyed glare. But then something in the beady black orb seemed to melt away and he sighed heavily. "Aberforth, firewhiskey please."

Remus raised an eyebrow at him.

"Not for you," he grouched. "You are going to drink your water and listen up."

"Nope." Remus popped the 'p' to sound a little more chipper. And to cover the fact that he was starting to panic for some reason. "I think I'm good now, thanks."

Time to escape. He pushed himself away from the countertop, but the floor rocked alarmingly under his feet. He gripped his stool, white-knuckled, willing the room to stop spinning. Shit. He knew better than to drink the day before full moon. As flippant as he had been with Mad-Eye, as desperately as he had wanted to lose himself, he _had_ been keeping track of how much he'd consumed (a habit born from years of iron control). He knew his limits. He shouldn't be this wobbly.

Gingerly, he navigated himself back to a seated position and rested his forehead against the sticky countertop. Eyes closed, he listened to the acuteness of the sounds: glasses clinking, deep voices thrumming, footsteps, firecrackers, children shrieking, "Trick or treat!" The volume was overwhelming, enough to make him want to vomit, but he swallowed hard against the softness in his throat. It took a long time for everything to fade back to normal decibel range.

Propping his elbow on the table, he levered his head up and squinted his eyes open. Mad-Eye was seated calmly beside him, taking occasional drags of his amber colored drink. The magical eye was fixed on Remus.

"I'm allowed a few drinks," Remus defended wearily. "I'm not going to… to do anything drastic."

"Never said it was wrong," Mad-Eye responded easily. "And today, of all days, is a good day to have a breakdown if that's what you think I'm worried about."

"I'm not… I'm not _breaking_ , I'm just sitting here," Remus snapped, feeling like his insides were on display.

"Sure." Mad-Eye set his glass firmly on the table.

"I'm not!" Remus repeated indignantly. "I'm fine! I've been fine! I'm living a normal life, or as normal as it could be. Today is just… just one bloody day."

"I don't think you're fine."

"Shows what you know."

"I don't think you've been fine for months. For one whole year, in fact. You're lying to yourself Lupin."

"Yeah well, fake it til you make it right?" He took a slow sip of his water, hoping it would stop his head from spinning. The ambient noise was fading in and out like a bad radio before achieving a kind of steady state. Softer now, he stated, "There's nothing you can do."

He almost hoped that Mad-Eye had not heard him.

"I know." Pause. "You listening now?"

"Apparently," Remus mumbled dryly to conceal his relief that Mad-Eye wasn't going to try and fix him.

"Good. I wasn't the only one looking for you today."

"Well you can tell Dumbledore-"

"It wasn't Albus."

"Oh." Remus was not sure how else to respond. "Greyback?"

"No. I have a few people on him tonight and tomorrow for the moon. He's north of London, currently. No, this was someone else. He was hooded. Only caught a glimpse, didn't have time to see his face. Made any new friends lately?"

Remus wanted to laugh at him, but he couldn't summon the energy. "Do I look interested in making friends?"

"Thought not."

"I guess I can assume I'm not forgotten then," Remus sighed. Any other day, this would have alarmed him. Not today.

"No you're not. But whoever it is…they're biding their time."

Mad-Eye's expression was troubled. He took a long gulp of firewhiskey, his magical eye rolling into his head to scan the bar. The group of revelers had abandoned the seedy joint, probably choosing to drink at the Three Broomsticks, where the atmosphere was warm and welcoming. The patrons of the Hog's Head were all the solitary remnants. A few sat in pairs, murmuring to each other. Most sat alone, nursing bitter drinks and bitter thoughts. Remus never thought he'd be one of them.

"Carmichael's alive," stated the auror next to him suddenly.

"What?" That was a surprise. The investigation into the ex-wandmaker's disappearance had tapered off months ago due to the lack of evidence.

"Just… turned up one day. Said he'd been abroad."

"And didn't bother to tell his wife?"

"He was definitely lying, but it's not like I could force the bloke to talk." After taking a drag of his drink, Mad-Eye slammed it down on the counter hard enough to make the remaining liquid slosh out. "You'd think he'd be a little more helpful, but he's as useless as he was when Greyback killed his son."

Remus had nothing useful to say to this. It was all very peculiar. He was beginning to wonder if Carmichael was as innocent in this as they originally believed. Or maybe he had somehow slipped so far into the gray areas that he was no longer distinguishable as good or bad.

He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temples, voicing this sentiment to Mad-Eye.

"Question is what pushed him so close to the edge?" the auror responded.

Remus sighed, feeling like he had a good idea. This whole, twisted chase of invisible villains was beginning to feel like he was chewing on rocks. Breaking his teeth and wearing down his jaw. He still felt mildly light-headed, though the water was beginning to dilute the effect of the alcohol. Exhaustion, heavy and wooden, gathered as grit under his eyelids.

Today had been an eternity in a heartbeat.

He'd survived one year.

For an instant, he wondered if Sirius knew what day it was. If he was still laughing in that dark, dementor-ridden hell. If anything had changed since that day.

 _How did we get here?_

"Still," Mad-eye said, jolting Remus from a vision of Sirius' wasted face and rotting mouth wide with hysteria. "Maybe it would be a good time to disappear for a while. You still work for the naturalist?"

"Yes," Remus replied, his mind still far away. He struggled to focus on the conversation at hand.

"You going anywhere new?"

"Croatia," Remus answered succinctly. "After the moon."

"What's in Croatia?"

"Unexplained migration patterns in some of the local fauna."

"So?"

"A centaur reported it. Centaurs don't usually interact with wizards unless they feel compelled to by some greater purpose."

"Sounds fascinating," Mad-Eye intoned absently. Remus shrugged, not in the mood to explain the uneasy feeling in his gut that had nothing to do with the distended moon on the horizon. Since Austria and Germany and now Croatia, he was starting to notice a pattern. He'd traced the events on a map and did not like the distinct path that appeared there.

"How long will you be there?" the auror asked.

"A week."

"Make it three."

"I already submitted the request-"

"I'll handle it."

More fireworks popped and crackled outside. The colors flashed brightly across the grimy windows. Remus watched, grimly noting that it was starting to rain. A few tiny droplets caught the light like sparks. But mostly, they were just a gray, thickening curtain in the night. The celebrations were moved indoors, muffled now by the weather.

Remus found himself desperately trying to remember the last words he'd exchanged with his friends. But his memory was a swirl of mundane conversations from the years, their meaning muddled. The only one he could grasp was the same one that tormented him. Sirius had been so sincere. Until the final moment… _Damn him,_ Remus thought.

" _You know we'll never leave you, right?"_

And like a fool, he'd believed him. Listened. Trusted.

" _We won't. You remember what we vowed second year? 'We solemnly swear that we will be bound as brothers until the end.'"_

He had no idea how long, but he gradually became aware of the steady, asymmetric gaze of his companion. There was pity there.

"Did you ever go back to Azkaban?" rumbled Mad-Eye softly.

Remus kept his gaze on the dripping windows. "No." He thought of the letter again, of the apologies, the struggle, the hesitation in the usually careless elegance. The facade.

 _You said brothers until the end. Did you know that this would be the end for us?_

"Do you think you'll ever go?"

He hesitated. The rain started to fall harder.

"No. I don't think-" Hard swallow. Then the words fell from his tongue. "I don't think I'll ever see him again."

He did not realize he had started weeping until the tears dripped like raindrops on the countertop. Once it started, it was impossible to stop. It rose with the same ferocity as when he had wept for James, for Lily, for Peter, delayed by hatred and anger and confusion. By betrayal. Now, the only thing he could think of as the anguish tore him apart were those unsent words.

 _Come home, Moony._

 _Solemnly Yours,_

 _Padfoot_

Mad-Eye stayed with him until the tears ran out, until every customer was gone and the fireplace glowed with embers. The rain continued late into the night.

* * *

 _June 5, 1986_

The rain started the same night Pyrites vanished from the face of the earth. It was steady, unceasing. There were times that Sirius thought that maybe it would stop, but then the shower would thicken once again. Their lawn was now a muddy soup of puddles and the long grass was bent under it.

Harry was starting to grow restless. He had gotten used to playing outside daily with the Weasleys, even in light showers. But this rain was far too heavy. Sirius did not envy Molly right now. They were probably running all over the Burrow to siphon off stagnant energy. But then, Sirius would rather be running with them as Padfoot than where he was now.

The traffic through bullpen of the auror department was decidedly slow today. No interesting cases, no amusing reports, not even a little squabble amidst the trainees. Sirius sighed heavily, his vision blurring as he turned over another page in the Borgin and Burkes file.

The reports were exceedingly dry. People had plenty to complain about, but nothing of substance to say. Most of the forms were a single yellow page, detailing useless information about faulty merchandise. Even the small clues of smuggling and black market deals had already been investigated and closed. Thank Merlin he was nearing the end…

The next page was pale green, so Sirius' eyes focused. It was a disturbance report. There were quite a few of these as well, but not as many as those annoying yellow forms.

The date read _October 31, 1985._ Sirius swallowed. Halloween of last year. His eyes slid down to the details. The disturbance was originally reported as a break-in at 11:55 pm by Sebastian Lagorio, the owner of the apothecary across the street. After hearing a commotion across the street, Mr. Lagorio looked out from his upstairs apartment window to see a figure fleeing away from the shop. The door had been blasted off its hinges and broken glass littered the cobblestones. But despite the damages, Mr. Borgin insisted that nothing was missing from his inventory, so in the end, it was never filed as theft.

Sirius frowned. If it wasn't a burglary, what did the intruder want? Or maybe it was a burglary and Borgin did not want the aurors to know what was taken. Either way, it was odd, so Sirius removed the report and tucked it into his pocket for later.

His stomach was starting to curdle with the desperation to do _anything_ other than sit here.

He leaned back in his spinning chair, projecting an air of perfect calm. He tossed a ball of rubber bands up in the air and caught it deftly. Then again. Toss, catch, repeat. Think about the not-burglary. Wait for Mad-Eye. Wait for Burke to show up so he could stare at him. Wait for more clues, wait for Mad-Eye, wait for Remus. Think some more. Nothing but waiting and thinking.

A man of action stuck in a chair.

Sirius' leg spasmed and he stood abruptly. A nearby intern startled, so he shot her a lopsided grin and moved to the other side of the room and looked out the enchanted windows. The rain slashed against them, making it difficult to see much. Sure, they could charm the windows to show a beautiful sunny day, but the aurors had an obsession with facts. And the fact was, the rain would not stop.

But it was very gloomy here. And boring. Fingering his wand, Sirius debated changing the weather in the windows to something more interesting. Fire and brimstone? Snow in June? He'd read somewhere that there was a planet where it rained diamonds…It could be some mad muggle exaggeration, but if muggle engineers could make motorbikes, surely their astronomers were competent, right?

" _How long to you think it'll take old Lion-face to notice?"_ James snickered in his head.

"Don't even think about it, Black."

"How do you know what I was thinking?"

"I don't need to know specifics, your general history is enough. You ready to go?"

"Yep," Sirius replied, popping the 'p.' He gave the room one final glance, hoping Burke would walk in (Merlin, Sirius wanted a piece of him right now), but no luck.

"He's out on assignment," Mad-Eye told him, guessing his thoughts. "So you can't grill him. Besides, it wouldn't do anyone any good. Worst case scenario, he goes public and tells the world that Carmichael was killed by our own friendly neighborhood werewolf."

"He can't prove that."

"Well we can't prove otherwise."

"Yeah, yeah," Sirius sighed. He lead the way to the Auror Department's private floo connection. It was a fireplace that was stuffed in a corner and given the bare bones of decoration. But it was scrubbed regularly, so at least they would have to worry about being covered in soot on this end of the exchange.

"Why is he sitting on it anyway? It's been three days."

"Probably has some kind of agenda we don't know yet," grunted Mad-Eye under his breath. He shot a glare at the same intern Sirius startled earlier. She immediately absorbed herself in something important-looking, pretending not to eavesdrop.

Frustration stiffened Sirius' fingers as he grabbed a handful of floo powder. He satisfied himself by letting out a sharp expletive with his breath. Then tossed the powder into the fireplace.

"Hogwarts!"

He kept his mouth firmly clamped as he spun through the sooty fireplaces, finally toppling out into a familiar setting. It was a small office with a high ceiling that he had stared down many a detention. Through three pointed gothic windows, the Quidditch pitch was just visible through the shroud of rain. Overflowing bookcases filled one wall and another was covered with a chalkboard. A lone piece of chalk was writing down equations that seemed unnecessarily complex.

"Good afternoon, Sirius," said Minerva McGonagall from her desk. She glanced at him, totally unconcerned at his sudden appearance in her office.

"Er, good afternoon," Sirius replied awkwardly. "Sorry, I thought I'd end up in Dumbledore's office…"

"The Headmaster is currently dealing with an unexpected student-related matter, but he will be down shortly to speak with you and Mr. Moody."

"Right."

Behind Sirius, a scuffling announced Mad-Eye's arrival. Mad-Eye took in his surroundings with a frown, but merely nodded in greeting to Minerva. She graced him with a brief smile, then started to organize the notes on her desk. With a wave of her wand, the piece of chalk ceased its frantic calculations and settled in the chalk-tray, quivering with exertion.

"How is Harry these days?" asked the professor once she finished filing away her papers into the proper drawer.

"He's good." He did not mention the thousands of concerns that were permanently lodged in his brain. Most of which centered around Vernon Dursley. "Thank you for the school stuff, by the way."

"My pleasure, Sirius."

Sirius could not stop the proud grin as he said, "He's finished the reading material already. Molly's fished out a few of her more advanced books."

"Well, that's certainly Lily's genes there."

"I dunno, James had some weird obsession with muggle autobiographies and World War II novels. Every once and a while he'd go on a binge…" Sirius trailed off, feeling odd. He'd forgotten… but yes, there was a clear picture in his mind, James sprawled over messy bed covers, a ratty thrift-store paperback from Remus inches from his face. It fell on his mind like a block of yellow sunlight through a tall window.

"I didn't know that," Minerva said after his few moments of silence.

"Yeah, he read more in the summers," Sirius murmured distractedly. The patch of sun was darkening with a new horror. Azkaban almost _took_ that memory from him. There was a mild brush of panic at how long it'd been gone. But before the panic could grow, the door to the room swung open, admitting the tall figure of the Headmaster.

"Sirius, Alastor, it's good to see you both," he greeted them genially.

"Albus," said Mad-Eye gruffly. "Glad you could make the time to see us."

Sirius swallowed and put on his business face. Now was not a good time to fall apart.

"Sir, we wanted to talk to you about a matter concerning Remus," he said. The Headmaster nodded thoughtfully, as if he had expected this.

"Shall we walk and talk?" he suggested lightly.

Sirius accepted the suggestion gratefully. His legs still needed stretching after spending the morning stuck behind a desk. Dumbledore lead the way through Hogwarts towards the Great Hall. Students huddled in alcoves and windowsills paused their conversations to stare openly at Mad-Eye and Sirius, each a spectacle in their own right: Mad-Eye, with his magical eye and skin so scarred it was like tree bark; and Sirius, the recently freed convict of Azkaban. Sirius kept an eye out for a flash of bright red hair, but he did not see either of the Weasley boys before they reached the giant double doors that exited into the courtyard.

When they stepped outside, the fuzz of raindrops parted above their heads, like an invisible dome was sheltering them from the wetness. Sirius glanced at Dumbledore and saw the twinkle in his eye.

"Does a circuit around the Black Lake sound reasonable?"

Mad-Eye grumbled an affirmative, so they set off across the grounds towards the lake, the magical umbrella keeping them thoroughly dry. Due to the weather, the grounds were deserted. The silver curtains faded the castle and sounds of students behind them, until it seemed they were somewhere else completely.

"I presume your investigation into Remus Lupin's disappearance has gone deeper than what you mentioned during our last meeting," Dumbledore stated once they reached the lakeshore. He turned and began to follow a path that kept the Forbidden forest on their right, the wide, dark water on the left.

"Er… yes," Sirius replied awkwardly.

"I am not offended, Sirius," Dumbledore said lightly. "I understand the need for discretion."

"Well the veil of secrecy has not always served us well in the past," grunted Mad-Eye. His peg-leg crunched hollowly on the rocky shore. "And based on recent events, I believe we've lost that advantage."

"Tell me from the beginning," Dumbledore instructed.

"We only have suspicions," Sirius started. "There was a student in Slytherin in the same year as Ileana Durand-"

"You speak of Eurion Pyrites?"

"I-yes," Sirius stammered, surprised.

Dumbledore shot him a quick glance and his beard twitched. "I usually suspect much more than you think, Sirius."

"Of course you do."

"Mmm," hummed Dumbledore lowly. His expression was troubled. He took several long strides in silence before speaking again. "Alastor, I seem to recall telling you about Liam Carmichael's fight with Augustus Rookwood before their graduation."

"You did, yes," huffed Mad-Eye, his wooden leg squelching in the mud. "That was back when Remus and I were investigating Carmichael's connections to Death Eaters."

"Pyrites was also involved, though it was never clear how. It was June and there was an early summer storm. The thunder covered the sounds of the duel. It went much longer than it should have. It started between Rookwood and Carmichael, but Pyrites found them. When I arrived to break up the fight, Pyrites and Rookwood had Carmichael backed into a corner."

"Do you think Pyrites was involved with what happened to Ileana?" Sirius asked.

"No," Dumbledore answered with calm confidence.

"You seem quite certain," grumbled Mad-Eye.

"I am," Dumbledore replied. "You see, at the time Ileana was killed, she and Eurion Pyrites had been dating for at least a year."

Whatever protest Sirius had been planning was swallowed up by shock. "They-what? But that's-he was in Slytherin."

Dumbledore gave him a searching stare over his half-moon glasses and said softly, "It's dangerous to judge someone based solely on one category of their life. Pyrites was indeed sorted into Slytherin, but struggled to find friends. He was exceedingly lonely, until his fifth year. What happened, we can only guess, but he started to socialize with a group of Ravenclaws. Soon you did not see them without each other. They all had their differences, but they were inseparable, rather like your little group, Sirius."

Sirius struggled to process this. Dumbledore's account of Pyrites' school years was so different from what he imagined. In the misty rain, it was like the world could have turned on its head.

"What were their names?" Mad-Eye asked, pulling out a notepad and a self-inking quill.

"You'll know most of them," Dumbledore answered. "Liam Carmichael, Ileana Durand, Mellie Chambers, now Carmichael, and a boy called Owais Chandra."

"Pyrites and Carmichael were friends? But… the fight before graduation…"

"Best friends. Tragedy can tear people apart just as easily as bring them together," Dumbledore sighed heavily. "Ileana's death was the catalyst. Voldemort was already recruiting and people were frightened. Tensions were high and Pyrites' label as a Slytherin was a breaking point. They stopped talking to him seventh year."

Sirius paused, feeling an emotion rising. He could sense Dumbledore and Mad-Eye stopping beside him, could feel their eyes on his skin like needles. Dumbledore's words were reverberating far too close to Sirius' core. He'd experienced first-hand the breaking of friendships. Brothers turning away. Heartbreak. And Remus… Remus never spoke to him again. The fog closed in around him like dementors. He clenched his fist, struggling for something to get the attention away from himself… anything…

"Owais Chandra," he bit out. "I don't recognize the name."

"He disappeared in 1973," Dumbledore responded, watching Sirius carefully. "Nothing was heard about him again until 1980."

"1980?"

"That's when I first asked Remus to be an advocate and a spy amongst the werewolves." Sirius twitched. Dumbledore ignored it. "He gleaned quite a bit of information about Greyback's pack. Apparently there was a werewolf in his inner circle by the name Owais. It did not take me long to make the connection. He was one of Greyback's own victims, never reported."

The story was unfolding like a mockery of his own. Betrayals and abandonment, tragedy on repeat. Sirius' bitterness loosened and drained. He stared out across the hazy surface of the Black Lake, feeling worn down.

"They were friends," he murmured out loud. _We were friends._

"Yes, they were," Dumbledore echoed sorrowfully.

 _And look at us now._

Liam was dead, Mellie was insane, and Owais isolated by a condition outside of his control. And Eurion Pyrites… what had happened next?

Something… something between being in love, losing everything, and the present version of the man: cold, impersonal, and self-obscured. Connected to darker things. The man in Sirius' head became… dissonant. Unresolved.

"Pyrites did not show up to work four days ago," Mad-Eye revealed Dumbledore, his voice hard. "Sirius and I believe him to be connected with Remus' disappearance. And the murder of Carmichael. We also think that he is the Death Eater that behind the early efforts to resurrect You-Know-Who."

Dumbledore was silent for a long time. Then, without a word, he began to walk again, picking up the trail they had been following around the lake. Mad-Eye and Sirius followed, staying under the magical umbrella. The rain continued to fall.

"Actions always have consequences. Whether we mean them or not," murmured Dumbledore over the hushing of water over leaves. "I never knew what happened to the heartbroken, angry boy than graduated from Hogwarts that June." Then his tone turned ominous. "But I'm afraid of what he could have become, if those demons won. Pyrites was highly intelligent. Gifted, even. And though he was a once a loyal friend, he could be a merciless enemy."

A soft crack of a branch suddenly rose above the raindrops. As one, the three wizards stopped. Sirius' fingers drifted towards his wand, feeling the smooth fir wood warm at his touch. The echoes of their heavy conversation made his adrenaline pump faster. At his shoulder, Mad-Eye was tense, wand already drawn. But Dumbledore stayed calm and called softly, "Who's there?"

More cracking followed, in the rhythm of footsteps. Sirius caught a bright bloom of scarlet amidst the gray and relaxed. Soon, a very pink, very wet Charlie Weasley emerged from the trees. Sirius grinned at him, deflating with relief. The somber attitude of the three wizards lifted.

"Uh, hi Professor Dumbledore. Sirius," Charlie stammered, kicking the dead leaves with a sodden shoe. He glanced curiously at Mad-Eye, but unlike the rest of the student body, seemed less compelled to stare with his mouth open.

"What are you doing out in the forest in this weather, Mr. Weasley?" Dumbledore asked sternly, but not unkindly.

"Just… walking?"

"You don't sound so sure," Mad-Eye pointed out gruffly.

Charlie blanched at being addressed by the intimidating auror.

"Charlie, this is Mad-Eye Moody," Sirius introduced hastily.

"Oh," Charlie said, eyes wide, then blurted, "Dad says you're the reason most of the Death Eaters are in Azkaban." The color returned to his face again with a furious blush.

"Not all of them," growled Mad-Eye. "So. What were you doing in the forest?"

"Er… I was looking for thestrals," admitted Charlie.

"Seen anyone snuff it, boy?"

"N-no. But um, I thought, you know, with the rain…" Charlie gestured at their invisible umbrella, where the raindrops seemed to hit a barrier and slide to the side, leaving a void beneath.

Sirius barked out a surprised laugh.

"Hmm… very clever, Mr. Weasley," said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling. "Would you like to join us and perhaps stay a little drier?"

Charlie nodded and ducked into their magical shelter. Sirius cast a drying spell and the wetness seeped away from his soaked clothes and trainers.

"Thanks," Charlie said with a smile in Sirius' direction.

"Find any werewolves while you were out?" Sirius teased.

"I thought you were kidding!" protested Charlie.

"I'm always Sirius."

Charlie and Dumbledore laughed appreciatively. Sirius could practically hear Mad-Eye rolling his eyes.

"But for real, kid," Sirius said, only half-joking. "I seem to have misplaced one, so if you come across one, let me know."

"Uh. Okay," Charlie agreed, his eyebrows drawn like he was trying to decide if Sirius really had gone insane in Azkaban.

"I think it's time we make our way back to the castle," said Dumbledore. "Mr. Weasley, how about we keep your little excursion between the four of us."

"I'd like that, sir," Charlie breathed out with relief.

"That was very clever to go searching for thestrals in the rain," praised the old professor. "But next time, ask Hagrid to accompany you. I'm sure he would be more than willing."

"Yes sir."

Dumbledore's beard lifted in a reassuring smile, then he turned, he and Mad-Eye taking the lead along the lakeshore, the forest hanging over them.

"You're not going to tell mum, right?" whispered Charlie nervously to Sirius.

"It crossed my mind," Sirius told him honestly (he still had not fully recovered from his panic three days ago when Harry snuck off). He chuckled as Charlie stumbled with open-mouthed surprise.

"But-but I thought you, well, Professor McGonagall said that you 'treated detentions as a prize to be won,'" quoted Charlie, with an impressive imitation of Minerva's Scottish lilt. In front of them, Sirius could see Dumbledore stifling a laugh.

"She's not wrong," Sirius said, grinning with a bit of pride. "I won't tell your mum. But asking Hagrid to go with you isn't a bad idea. He's pretty good company."

"Alright."

They emerged from the trees and out onto the broad expanse of the grounds. The claustrophobic feeling of being surrounded was suddenly replaced by feeling far too exposed in the misty landscape. Two side effects of being imprisoned for too long. Sirius convinced himself he was imagining the strange curl of anticipation in his gut as they climbed the hill up towards the castle.

"Out of curiosity," he said to Charlie to distract himself. "What were you planning to do once you found the thestrals?"

"Feed them," Charlie replied, as if it were obvious.

"Uh… with what?"

"Meat," said Charlie with a half-smile. He slipped a hand in his pocket and drew out a dark purple handful of what looked like chopped up tenderloin.

"Looks appetizing. What did the houselves say when you asked them for raw meat?"

"They just gave it to me," Charlie said innocently.

"Huh," huffed Sirius. "They seemed to always question my motives. Unless I was getting chocolate for a friend. They were quite taken with him…"

Sirius trailed off as the castle entrance loomed into view. The doors were already open wide, revealing the glowing interior of the castle like a fiery geode. Framed in the warm light was a group of wizards dressed in black ministry robes. Their faces resolved into grim contrasts with the welcoming archway.

"This can't be good," muttered Mad-Eye balefully.

Rufus Scrimgeour and Minister Bagnold stood at the forefront. Sirius did not recognize most of their cohort, except for a few aurors. His step hitched. There was a roaring in his ears. Primal survival instinct screamed at him to turn and sprint in the other direction.

 _Stop it. You're not guilty. No one thinks you're guilty anymore. No one._

His spine stiffened into a rigid line. _Steady steps, Black,_ he counseled himself. He only had a few seconds to gather himself, then they were at the entrance. The dark-robed wizards parted and allowed them to step into the dry castle interior.

"Gentlemen. Ma'am," Dumbledore murmured genially. His crystal eyes sharply scanned the Great Hall, taking in the students watching from moving stairwells and the portraits unnaturally still. "Let's go up to my office. Good day, Charlie."

"Good day, sir," said Charlie quietly, remaining where he was while the adults continued onward. Sirius shot him a half-smile, the irrational fear gone. No one had looked at him suspiciously. In fact, no one even seemed to notice his presence. There was a crackle of nervous energy among the wizards, and a heavy weight settled in his gut. This was not good.

The journey through Hogwarts to the stone gargoyle was strained. By the time they were making their way single-file into the Headmaster's office, Sirius could feel his stomach in his throat. The door shut firmly behind them and the lock slid into place.

"What is this about?" Mad-Eye asked bluntly.

Minister Bagnold looked at him sharply. "We are here to speak with the Headmaster and with you, Mr. Moody." Then her gaze slid to Sirius. He saw a flash of surprise, that softened just slightly with guilt. "Mr. Black, this is a sensitive matter-"

"He can stay," interrupted Scrimgeour, staring hard at Sirius. "He's just been reinstated as an auror."

"Is this true, Mr. Black?"

Sirius just barely maintained a smooth mask over his alarm. "Er, yes," he lied, hoping that Scrimgeour had a good reason for concealing the truth.

"We are still straightening out the paperwork," Scrimgeour added professionally. "Besides, it might be helpful to have Black here."

"Fine. Black stays," agreed the Minister. She whipped her wand out and conjured chairs for everyone. They seated themselves, even Dumbledore foregoing the comfy armchair behind his desk. Minister Bagnold crossed her ankles, clad in sheer black tights. Then, instead of speaking, she turned her attention smartly to Scrimgeour.

Scrimgeour leaned forward, resting his elbows heavily on his knees. When he began to speak, it was low and to the point.

"There are three prisoners missing from their cells in Azkaban."

"What?!" barked Sirius. All heads turned to him, but he stared straight into Scrimgeour's amber eyes. Scrimgeour held his gaze.

"Augustus Rookwood, Rabastan Lestrange, and Peter Pettigrew."

The final name was like a physical blow. Sirius felt the air get sucked from his lungs and only barely heard Dumbledore when he asked a single word.

"How?"

Minister Bagnold straightened. "We don't know," she admitted. The words appeared to cost a great deal. "Their absence was just discovered and reported an hour ago."

They knew _nothing_? Sirius still couldn't breathe because it had been a full hour and… oh God, did Molly know? What if Harry had wandered off again? Peter knew where the Weasleys lived and what if, what if, what if… Sirius felt his legs mechanically respond to his panic. He was on his feet.

"How long had the cells been empty?"

Dumbledore's placid question filtered into Sirius' brain. Sirius' muscles froze, except his neck snapped around to Minister Bagnold.

She cleared her throat haltingly.

"We don't know that either."

* * *

 **A/N: Dun dun duuuunnn. Once more, sorry for the sort of cliffhanger. And the wait... please review if you have time! Also, if you notice any grammar or spelling errors, include that in a review or pm me. I edit all of this myself, and it's always better to have other sets of eyes.**


	16. Quiet, Quicken

**Happy November friends! Thanks again for your words of encouragement and also to anyone who had helpful notes and comments. Sorry I could not respond to everyone, but unfortunately my life is just getting crazier...**

 **-Cat**

* * *

Chapter 16

Quiet/Quicken

 _November 23, 1982_

In the blue twilight, a range of jagged mountains rested against a sky of stars, just visible through the thick forest of trees. The temperature was sliding below freezing, causing crystals of ice to form on lichens and moss like lace. Around Remus, the dark pillars of the trees were shapeless shadows through a veil of fog, putting him on edge despite its haunting beauty. He watched his breath coagulate in the air, feeling the cold sting as he inhaled. It was very quiet in these Croatian woods.

Halloween changed something inside him. He felt frailer than he had before. He'd spent the year on a quest to be alone, but now… the idea of being alone for the rest of his life… it was like the quiet here. Painfully solid. He was suspended in its center.

" _I don't think I'll ever see him again."_

How thoroughly that undid him. And he had thought that he was fine. He thought he'd numbed it. He snorted softly to himself. Silence did not heal wounds. He was a fool to think that it made him stronger. The problem was, he was not sure he wanted all his wounds to close.

In the cold darkness, he could almost imagine the gravestone in Godric's Hollow, grass littered with brightly colored leaves. There was music floating from the church, unearthly and beautiful.

" _The last Enemy that shall be defeated is Death."_

How long could he put it off, ending his grief for those that had died?

 _James and Lily are dead. Peter is dead._ No, it was easier to lose himself in the day to day, in being busy, in reality. He desperately needed everything before Halloween to be a dream.

"It wasn't a dream," he whispered to himself, shattering the silence for an instant. That was all he could manage for now.

It was quiet once more, like an aftershock.

Straining his ears, he tried to keep his nerves calm. But the creeping mist muffled all sound, shrouded the unmoving place.

Thus far, his trip to Croatia had been unproductive. He'd taken Mad-Eye's advice and stayed in Croatia much longer than necessary. The Croatian Ministry had not taken much interest in the sudden abandonment of this area by magical creatures. A few locals were willing to divulge a few odd comments, most of which were vague and unhelpful.

" _I had a bad feeling when I went hiking last month. Dunno, it was weird."_

" _Set my skin crawling lately, the forest at night."_

" _There's something more than just trees there."_

Remus shook his head. The responses to his questions were along the same vein. All unspecific, all pointing to something _wrong._ It all added to his creeping sense of unease. But finally, he felt closer to a break-through…

Leaves rustled, cracking and shattering in the stillness. The wand in his pocket warmed to his touch, ready as he revolved blindly. He felt extremely exposed in this ghostly place of petrified trees. Then he saw what had caused the sudden sound and relaxed, his limbs still tingling with adrenaline.

A centaur loomed suddenly out of the pall of vapor. He had a sleek, strong body of onyx, glittering with droplets from the mist. Then, just above his withers, the deep ebony transitioned to velvety human skin only a few shades lighter. A graceful bow was draped over his shoulders. He regarded Remus with dark, intelligent eyes.

"Thank you for agreeing to speak with me, Simun," Remus said in greeting.

"I do as I am bidden by the stars," Simun replied. His voice was deeper than the night, so deep that it resonated in Remus' chest. His English was smooth and lyrically accented.

"Oh," Remus said awkwardly, when he realized the centaur was expecting a response.

"It is a rare thing, for a centaur to speak to a human of these matters," said the centaur, studying Remus. His gaze had the weight of the sky in it. "But I see you do not carry the same arrogance as the others."

"They did not listen," stated Remus.

"No," Simun agreed mournfully. "And so they remain blind. I had hoped that perhaps you would, when I received your message." He frowned. "But I fear… I fear how intimately you are tangled within this matter."

There was no denying this. "What was it that made the centaurs report that this area was being vacated by the creatures here?" Remus asked.

"I do as I am bidden by the stars," repeated the centaur, more cautiously. He was still watching Remus with a solemn expression.

"Why did they leave?" Remus pressed.

"All creatures must die, wolf-man," answered the centaur with slow consideration. "And pass beyond the veil."

"They died?"

"No," Simun said gravely. "They flee the silence. You have come a long way to seek something unnameable."

"Unnameable," Remus repeated, grappling with the centaur's metaphor and wondering if he was being purposely vague. "You mean what happened here?"

Simun blinked slowly at him. Then he tilted his chin up, where the stars were growing brighter through the black branches that veined the dome of the sky. "The patterns of the celestial bodies can be read in many ways," he responded eventually. "What happened here is of little consequence in the universe. The darkness you follow, however…cannot be quenched yet."

"What darkness?"

Knowing coal eyes shifted to Remus. "The shadow passed away from here last turning of the moon. You would do well not to pursue this path."

"Why not?"

"It is not yours to follow."

"Whose is it?"

"Another. You must be as a guide to him."

Lost, Remus stared at the centaur, who was turning his gaze to heaven once more.

"I'm not sure I understand," Remus said carefully when Simun did not speak again for several long minutes.

"No. It is not for you to understand until everything has been completed." The centaur's voice was melancholy. His eyes stayed drawn to a single, bright star that was flickering in the firmament. Remus swallowed heavily when he recognized the Dog Star.

"You said the shadow had past from here," he murmured.

"Yes," replied the centaur. "He anchored himself to this world. Even now he draws in on himself, thirsty for life. You are not strong enough to face him. Try and he would consume you. This darkness cannot be tested alone."

"Are you speaking about… about Voldemort?"

The coal-eyes flickered and fixed Remus where he stood. "There are circles that should not be broken. You cannot stop the turning of the moon, wolf-man."

Inevitability. Remus roughly pushed away a growing fear in his mind as he said softly, "I don't believe we are controlled by fate."

"Nothing can be fully predetermined," said Simun. Remus was shocked that the centaur seemed to be agreeing. "But what you have been given, that has already come to pass. Your choices will shape what you become. You could be a man or you could be a monster. Or you could be nothing at all."

 _Or maybe a little of each_.

Simun's sleek tail flickered. Remus had the sense that the conversation was coming to the close. The fog was thickening, mirroring the confusion in his brain. He'd come here to ask about the disappearances of the creatures in the forested area, but the mysterious being had focused on Remus himself.

"Be watchful, wolf-man. You are not the only being to chase shadows in the dark. The other does not have hope as you."

"Hope," Remus chuckled hoarsely. "I think you might be wrong about that." In the deepening gloom of the forest, Remus felt like hope was as distant and cold as the stars above. Millions and millions of lifetimes away.

"I think not," the centaur rumbled. His tail flicked back and forth as he turned with methodical grace. "Farewell, wolf-man."

"Wait. _Wait._ "

Simun paused. Already his edges were blending into the obscurity of the forest as if they were one and the same.

"Do you know who's following me?"

The centaur watched him silently, as if he could not figure out how to answer such a direct question. Then he deliberately shook his head.

"Not the name. He lost himself. He has not known love for too long."

This sent a sharp pain through Remus chest and a memory bloomed like thorns. A moment he wished he could forget. " _And… if you're far away or… or get lost…"_

God, would Sirius ever leave him alone?

"You have not been abandoned," Simun said, then melted into the fabric of the trees.

" _If you're far away or… or get lost… we will still be brothers."_

Remus stood with his feet planted in the decaying ground for a long time, struggling to release the grip of his dead brothers. Struggling to understand the cryptic message of the centaur. Something dark was cutting a path through Europe and Remus had been unknowingly tracking it since Germany. Something that could be the shell of the Dark Lord. And he was not alone in this knowledge. A new feeling of urgency was beginning to grow in his chest, dampened by the sensation of being utterly alone in this Croatian forest.

Mechanically, he forced his feet into motion. It was many miles to the town where he was staying. As he walked alone, the Dog Star continued to flicker above the ripple atmosphere of the earth. In the bleak hush of autumn's end, Remus felt like he was the only person in the world, watched by the only star in the sky.

* * *

 _June 5, 1986_

It was Dumbledore and a young auror named Kingsley Shacklebolt that accompanied Sirius back to the Burrow. Mad-Eye went with Scrimgeour and a troop of aurors to Azkaban (It was understood that Sirius was excused from having to go near the prison). Harry rushed into the kitchen at the roaring of the floo and jumped up to hug Sirius. Sirius hugged him back, tightly, but his mind was racing. Memories, too dark to be spoken aloud, blotted out the cheerful colors and sounds of the Burrow. (He thought he'd buried them).

Harry released him to say hello to Dumbledore and shyly shake Shacklebolt's calloused hand. Sirius drank in the sight of him, alive and well. (He could hear his own insane laughter reverberating through his head).

Dumbledore was speaking.

Sirius barely processed Molly's gasp of shock, the strange silence of Fred and George. Ron was whispering loud questions to his older brothers. Ginny had come into the kitchen too. Though she hardly understood what a breakout from Azkaban meant, she started to cry. Harry gently patted her hair, his face sweetly concerned, until Percy came down from upstairs and picked her up with skinny arms.

Then, before he knew it, he and Harry were flooing back to their warded cottage, Dumbledore and Kingsley following closely behind.

The house was warm, but Sirius still turned up his heating charms. He could not stop shivering. He hid the tremor in his fingers by offering Dumbledore and Kingsley tea, and making himself a fresh pot of coffee. Harry stayed within a meter of him at all times. His initial brave comfort of Ginny at the Burrow was gone. Now he had become unnaturally mute, just following Sirius and clutching Firebreath the dragon tightly.

Sirius doubted that Harry understood much more than Ginny, but was comforting, having the messy head of black hair always in his peripheral. Like an anchor. His bones still ached with cold.

" _The guard on duty was imperized. He doesn't remember anything." Sirius avoided looking directly at the Azkaban warden. He was a tall man that loomed over you like a shadow. Sirius could not remember his name. It took him several minutes to recognize him now in Dumbledore's office. His face was different in the light._

" _And the last round that saw them?" Mad-Eye asked._

" _Three days ago."_

" _Blast."_

A rapid knocking came from the foyer. Through the glass panes on either side of the front door, Sirius saw a familiar maroon top hat. There was a slight expression of shock on Daedalus Diggle's face when he saw Sirius.

"Sirius," squeaked the small man. "I- It's good to see you. Despite the circumstances."

"Hello Daedalus," Sirius responded. Seeing an old member of the Order of the Phoenix made him more apprehensive. "You're here to…"

"Of course, of course," Daedalus stammered. "Dumbledore invited me. I'm rather good with protective enchantments. Keeping things hidden, you know. Just going to brush up Flitwick's work, though I'm sure it's already fairly good."

The rather… unignorable dress-sense of Daedalus Diggle contrasted splendidly with his gift at hiding things. But Sirius had worked with him long enough to know it was true. Daedalus was the best.

"Daedalus, come in," called Dumbledore from inside.

Mutely, Sirius stepped aside and allowed the wizard to enter.

"Oh, and Mr. Potter, and absolute honor young sir," exclaimed Daedalus, sweeping his maroon hat off his head and shaking Harry's hand rapidly.

Harry was both intrigued and bemused by the new arrival. If it weren't for the somber atmosphere, he probably would have been more outgoing. But today, he just gave Daedalus a shy smile. Then he was once more glued to Sirius' side. Daedalus passed into the kitchen to help himself to some tea before moving to the living room to join Dumbledore and Kingsley. Sirius looked from Harry to the meeting taking place on his borrowed sofa and chairs, feeling torn.

Dumbledore sensed his predicament and said pleasantly, "Sirius, I think this will just be a general discussion of logistics of further protection for yourselves and the Weasleys. If you'd like, I'll fill you in later."

"Thanks," Sirius responded quickly, surprised by the relief loosening his jaw. "We're just gonna… go outside for a bit."

Sirius took Harry's hand and let them out the front door where Daedalus just entered. The eaves of the porch were dripping steadily, but the rain had finally stopped. He peered uncomfortably into the fog rising from the grass, but chose to trust the current wards, at least long enough to talk to Harry. They had lasted three days so far. The damp aroma filled Sirius' lungs, chilling him even further. He clenched his fists.

" _The dementors went rogue."_

 _Dumbledore's soft statement cut through the office like winter air. Minister Bagnold shifted in her seat. The warden cleared his throat._

" _It's… a possibility."_

" _I think it is more than a possibility," Dumbledore responded deliberately. "I've counseled against their use in the past. A dark creature such as that has a will that is easily swayed. And a hunger that does not end at prison walls."_

 _Sirius felt sick. His blood was ice._

" _We provide plenty for them," snapped the warden. "What could another party possibly offer?"_

" _You don't provide enough."_

 _It took several shocked seconds for Sirius to realize he had spoken. Silence met him. He was drowning in a sea of eyes and distant laughter. He inhaled harshly, struggling for composure._

" _You don't provide enough," he repeated, enunciating each syllable. "You never could. Not to them."_

 _He was standing again._

" _I need to go," he bit out succinctly. "Harry."_

A soft, warm hand touched his.

"Sirius?"

"I'm okay."

The warmth disappeared. Sirius tried not to show how much that affected him.

He cast a drying charm to siphon off any water that had managed to get on the porch furniture. Then he collapsed heavily into one of the chairs, letting out a long, harsh breath. Harry very quietly clambered in the other chair, Firebreath still encircled in his knobbly elbows. Sirius stared at him curled there for a few seconds before saying, "Come here."

With a grin, Harry switched from the hard chair to climbing onto Sirius' lap. Sirius wrapped his arms around Harry, then looked out into the mist.

"Harry, do you know what Azkaban is?"

"Wizard prison," Harry murmured into Firebreath's wings. His cheeks blushed red. "Fred told me."

"Did he now?" Sirius was not very surprised. After all, he told Regulus as soon as he found out. There was a whole chain of Weasley brothers to pass on illicit information.

"He said that's where the bad wizards go if the aurors catch them."

"Did he say anything else?"

Harry muttered something unintelligible.

"What was that?"

"He said that you were there," whispered Harry.

Sirius sighed. He'd hoped to one day have the rest of this conversation when Harry was older. Less… child-like.

"Do you remember the talk we had a little while ago? When I told you that I got blamed for something someone else did?"

Harry's head nodded against his chest.

"That's where I went until things got sorted." He felt no need to elaborate. But he knew it wasn't enough. "Do you have any questions?"

"About what?"

"Anything."

Harry was quiet for a few minutes. Sirius let him think, allowing his own mind to drift. Any shadows stayed at the brink of his consciousness. Harry's weight on his lap gave him a better hold on the present.

"Were there spiders in Azkaban?"

Bewildered, Sirius answered, "None. Why do you ask?"

"Spiders like dark places," Harry replied matter-of-factly. "And I think Azkaban must've been very dark."

"I think Azkaban is too cold for spiders," Sirius mused distantly. "But there are other things that like dark places."

" _What did you mean, we don't provide enough?" interrupted the warden._

 _Sirius did not want to answer. He ignored him, focusing on preparing to floo to the Burrow. Around them, their fellow wizards were shuffling, discussing._

" _What did you mean?" asked the warden again._

"Were the men who escaped bad?"

"...yeah."

Merlin, he could hardly think about Pettigrew without the contents of his stomach hardening to stone and his blood burning. He checked the perimeter of the house again. Nothing he could see prowled through the fog. But what he couldn't see worried him more.

"Like the bad wizard who killed my mum and dad?"

Sirius looked down to see Harry's large emerald eyes fixed on him. Then, breathing deeply, he admitted, "No. He was worse." He cast about for anything to lighten the flicker of fear in those green depths. "But you don't have to worry," he said, trying for upbeat. "Dumbledore and Kingsley and Daedalus are going to make our house very safe. And there are some very good wizards that will do the same for the Weasleys. And… and you have me."

"You won't let anything happen to me," Harry said with a grin, perking up.

"Exactly."

The front door opened, revealing a rather disheveled, sooty, and tired-looking Arthur Weasley. He was halfway between his ministry robes and a comfortable, homespun jumper. He smiled wearily at them.

"Hullo Sirius, Harry."

"Hi Mr. Weasley," chirped Harry.

"Good to see you Harry," Arthur said. Then to Sirius, "They're finished at the Burrow. There were worries about Pettigrew returning… and since Harry will be there, they thought it would be best. Puts Molly at ease. How are you doing?"

"Fine," Sirius said. It was only partly a lie. Harry was okay, so Sirius was almost fine. "Actually, Arthur, I'm going to have to go in soon…"

"I heard," Arthur nodded. "They reinstated you."

"We're still working out some of the details. Well, all of them. It was rather… sudden. And things are going to be a little hectic… I don't want to leave him with…things the way they are."

"Anything you need, Sirius," Arthur interrupted gently. "He's safe at the Burrow."

"Yeah. yeah… I know." Sirius gathered himself, already exhausted by the thought of working today. Then he lifted Harry up and swung him to the porch, rising from the chair. "Ready to go back to the Burrow Harry? We'll let the others finish up their work here."

"Yes!" Harry scurried inside ahead of them.

Sirius paused, noticing that Arthur was watching him.

"How are you really doing?" Arthur probed.

Sirius could not look the balding man in the eye. The spot on his chest and lap where he'd held Harry was now very cold. A shiver was rippling through his spine and fingers and pressure squeezed against his throat. He felt transparent.

"Sirius," murmured Arthur.

"They never stopped."

Sirius didn't know what made him say it. He wished he could take it back. Maybe his defenses were especially fragile, or maybe it was because Arthur had already offered to listen. But no one should have to shoulder his burdens. Too late. His quick statement dropped between them like lead. Arthur's gaze prickled on his clammy skin. His heart pounded.

"What do you mean?"

"Forget it," Sirius stammered.

" _What did you mean, we don't provide enough?"_

"You can tell me."

 _Just let go, Padfoot_ , James' voice entered his thoughts. _Just this once. You need to let something go._

Sirius breathed deeply, feeling like there was not enough oxygen. "The dementors. They never stopped. They were always there."

Arthur did not speak for several seconds. Long enough for Sirius to feel embarrassed. He'd revealed too much.

"Keep Harry safe," Sirius said quickly. Then, without another word, he walked past Arthur and into the house.

* * *

The bullpen was in chaos.

Weathered aurors were immediately distinguishable from the young. Anyone who had survived the war with Voldemort worked with calm urgency, every move efficient, every word exchanged necessary. Those who joined within the last five years looked flustered and panicked. They were used to a calm, busy but manageable atmosphere. Not pandemonium.

But pandemonium was what Sirius joined when he first became an auror. It was familiar. Even energizing, if he could call it that. Already a war room was forming in the council room, behind windows that gave an aura of transparency. Sirius could see Mad-Eye shouting and pounding the table. Scrimgeour caught sight of him through the glass and waved two fingers at him to enter. Sirius crossed the bullpen expertly, dodging owls, interns, and flying stacks of paper.

Inside the council room it was calmer, though there was still an electric current running through the air. Sirius scanned the aurors present. Scrimgeour, Mad-Eye, Nelson Hapley, Altair Gore, Ava Finch, Cassian Proudfoot, Deirdre Savage. And Augustine Burke. Sirius resisted the urge to scowl at him, instead making his way towards Nelson. Mad-Eye had finished shouting and Proudfoot was now speaking. Proudfoot, though a new auror, was the current liaison to Azkaban (the job was rotated through the junior aurors on a monthly basis).

Sirius half-listened as he nodded to Nelson and took a seat. Almost immediately an intern appeared with a stack of papers and slid them in front of him.

"Reinstatement papers," he whispered. "Scrimgeour will need them by the end of the day."

"Right," Sirius muttered under his breath. He grabbed a quill at random and began to fill in the blank lines.

"...doubling the human guard on the tower in the meantime. Dementors can't be removed because of the repercussions unleashing them on the general populace. And the red tape extends for miles it seems…"

Sirius wished this shocked him more, but he knew bureaucracy reigned in the magical government. He started on the section for his wand description and any personal magical signatures.

"...means of escape is still a question," Gore was now saying. The retired head auror running his fingers over an iron gray mustache. "Clearly they had help from the outside. Already we have trainees going through the list of visitors in the last two years. They'll flag anything suspicious and pass it up to myself and other senior aurors in the force. We can't rule out an inside job, so we'll also be doing checks on any guards as well. No one is above suspicion..."

The hairs on Sirius' neck prickled. Without looking, he knew that Burke was watching him. He bit his tongue, wishing he could tell him to shove it.

"I want to turn our attention to the escapees in question," Scrimgeour began, rising and magically fixing moving mug shots of each prisoner onto the wall.

Sirius' eyes were drawn to Peter. He looked just as he did at his trial. Sirius imagined that it was probably taken the same day. His face was pasty and white, those watery blue eyes were rimmed with red and darting about frantically. The skin beneath his chin was tight and bulging. One hand holding his prison ID number was missing a finger. The the other fingers were grubby and peeling.

"...all are known Death Eaters, but beyond that there is not much connecting them. We'll start with individual profiles, presented by the experts. Mr. Black?"

Sirius snapped his attention away from Peter's photo to Scrimgeour. He was giving him a hard, searching stare.

"Yes?"

"If you would start with information on Peter Pettigrew, please. I believe you knew him best."

Sirius blinked. Of course. Stupid. He was obviously the expert on Peter in this room. He cleared his throat and began in an unaffected voice.

"Pettigrew is a follower, not a leader. He's not one to take initiative, and he acts if he can see a benefit to himself." He paused, gathered his composure again. He thanked Merlin that he'd already started to think about this. "He's not particularly skilled in the areas of magic or charisma. Whoever orchestrated this was organized and intelligent, so he would not release Pettigrew unless he had some purpose. I assume it would be his animagus form, a rat. He is small, ideal for spying." His voice almost caught on the word.

"Identifying markers?" asked Scrimgeour, as if Sirius' lapse had been natural.

"Common garden rat. Blue eyes instead of brown. He'll be missing one of his toes on his right paw."

"Any other reason Pettigrew could be useful?"

Sirius shrugged, an ache settling somewhere in his chest. "Like I said, he is not very skilled magically." _He was good a drawing,_ said James mournfully in his head. _Not now,_ Sirius thought back fiercely. Something useful… "He was actually okay with healing charms and potions. And…"

Another, more sinister thought that had been festering rose to the surface.

"He had a connection to the Potters," Mad-Eye finished for him. "And to you."

"Right," Sirius agreed. He was not sure how much to reveal about his and Mad-Eye's side investigation to this audience. Especially if Burke was present. Cautiously, he continued, "Immediately after the fall of Voldemort-" none of the seasoned aurors reacted to the name, but the room chilled "-loyal Death Eaters began targeting those close to the Potters. Alice and Frank Longbottom." He swallowed. "Remus Lupin."

Was it his imagination or did Burke straighten slightly?

"What about young Harry?" interjected Nelson.

"He was under some heavy protection from anyone connected with Voldemort," Sirius answered.

"And now?"

"He still is," Sirius said firmly. He resisted the urge to glance at Burke. For the first time he wondered if anything could measure up to the ancient blood magic Lily evoked with her death.

"Let's move on to Rabastan Lestrange," Scrimgeour directed. Sirius leaned back in his chair, twirling a quill in his hand. It hopefully hid the stiffness in his shoulders. And the empty feeling somewhere around his navel.

Most of the information on Rabastan was old. The Death Eater was a master of disguise and subterfuge. He had little charisma, but was a political mastermind. With the right frontman, Lestrange was dangerous. Besides this, he was ruthless and cruel, though preferring to observe more than act. He and Bellatrix complimented each other well in this respect.

As for Rookwood, Mad-Eye kept his presentation short and to the point. He focused on his career in the Department of Mysteries, mentioned nothing of what he and Sirius learned of his final year at Hogwarts. Sirius learned that Rookwood mostly researched the mysteries of Time, Life, and Death. That he had unexpectedly requested to be transferred to the Hall of Prophecy in August of 1980.

This grabbed Sirius' attention. He was not sure what was contained within the Hall of Prophecy exactly, but the timing couldn't be a coincidence.

"We should tighten the security in the Department of Mysteries," he suggested.

"I agree," Scrimgeour validated. "Savage?"

"On it," Savage said succinctly, notating something in a memo book.

"Anything further to discuss? Black, Moody can get you caught up on what you missed later."

Sirius nodded, putting a final flourish on his half-finished paperwork. Then he handed it over to the intern, who opened her mouth to protest, but Sirius was already on his feet. He pushed around the edge of the conference room, hoping to make it to the door with little talk. He almost did.

"Black."

 _Damn._ He pulled open the door, allowing the noise of the bullpen to flood inside. Then turned. He wanted this to be a short discussion.

"What do you need, Burke?" Sirius asked in a forced tone.

"You listed Lupin as a victim of the Death Eaters after the fall of Voldemort."

"Yes."

"His body was never found."

"No, it wasn't," Sirius replied flatly. His grip tightened on the wood of the door. Clearly Burke was not interested in concealing that he'd looked at the evidence.

"And you are still looking for him?" asked Burke, almost polite. "I saw the shade, same as you. Doesn't have much to say, does he?" It was getting difficult for Sirius to hold his tongue in check. His jaw clenched. Behind Burke, Sirius saw Mad-Eye's magical eye swivel in their direction.

"I do wonder," Burke murmured beneath the chaotic rumble of the bullpen. "If he is still alive, why he would stay in hiding this long. Unless…"

"Unless what?" growled Sirius, tempted to smash the door into Burke's nose.

"How confident are you that Pettigrew was the only member of your little group to… defect?"

"You don't know what you're talking about," snapped Sirius. Mad-Eye was giving him a warning look now.

Burke smiled at him condescendingly. "Of course. You knew him better than I. Just as you knew little Peter Pettigrew."

"Shut. Up."

"Back off, Burke." Suddenly, Mad-Eye was there at Sirius' side. This did nothing to calm Sirius' temper. He could feel it scorching his throat and charring the edges of his vision.

Burke was still smiling, but he put up his hands in surrender. "Take it easy, Moody," he drawled. "Just having a conversation."

"Good for you," Mad-Eye grumbled, pushing Sirius in front of him. Sirius balked, but Mad-Eye shoved him bodily out of the conference room. "Don't antagonize him," he hissed.

"He started it," retorted Sirius under his breath, indignant. Mad-Eye wrestled him all the way to the lobby of the auror department. They stopped in front of the solemn black wall that was filled with the names of the fallen. Sirius pulled his arm from Mad-Eye's grip and turned away from the names, facing the welcome desk and the brass elevator doors. They opened, admitting a flock of colored paper airplanes and a harried looking assistant from the Minister's office. Mad-Eye waited until the lobby was quiet once more, except for the witch at the desk, who was rapidly dictating memos in a high-pitched voice.

"You okay?"

"I don't need you to be my guard dog," Sirius said stiffly.

"So I should have let you hit him?"

"I wouldn't have," countered Sirius angrily.

"If past experience is anything to go by, I'd rather not take any chances. Especially with Burke. And you've had a difficult day."

Sirius dug his fingernails into his palms. "I'm not going to lose it just because I've had a bad day."

"He insulted your friends."

"WOULD YOU JUST LET IT GO?!" Sirius roared suddenly, rounding on Mad-Eye. The witch at the desk let out a surprised squeak.

"No," Mad-Eye said firmly with a glint in his eye. "Stop shouting."

"I'LL SHOUT IF I FEEL LIKE IT!"

"Mature, Black. Just what the papers need right now. Azkaban has failed and Sirius Black's finally gone batshit."

"Leave. Me. _Alone!_ " Sirius snarled, but quieter.

"Like they did?"

This stopped Sirius cold. He stared at the weathered auror. His anger shifted, stuttered, shocked by how close to his true feelings Mad-Eye had come. "They didn't have a choice," he hissed.

"Remus did." Sirius jerked involuntarily. Mad-Eye shifted. "For a time. And Peter certainly did."

"Just… would you please let it go?" Sirius repeated mechanically.

"Can you?"

Sirius hated how gentle Mad-Eye's scarred and pitted face was in this moment. The dark, beady eye was soft. The blue one was looking away, the startling effect dimmed. Sirius followed its gaze to the ebony marble, to the name of his best friend embossed in gold. Then, Mad-Eye was handing him a piece of paper.

Sirius took it mutely and read it.

"You don't want to talk about Azkaban or your friends," Mad-Eye said bluntly. "Fine. You don't have to. I don't need to know what's going on, but I do need to know that you can work and focus on the here and now."

Sirius understood and found he could not speak.

"This is what convinced me," Mad-Eye said gruffly. "Take a better look. But only if you're prepared for the conclusion."

Sirius swallowed and turned to the elevator, away from James' name, paper in hand.

"Sirius."

Sirius stopped.

"I'm sorry about your friends."

"Thanks," Sirius whispered hoarsely. He left Mad-Eye standing in the lobby before the memorial wall.

The evidence was exactly as it had been when Sirius first saw it. But different too. He swallowed. Burke had seen every piece. He stared down at the meager collection, hands at his sides. His anger at Burke was now miles away.

He reached for the slender black wand-box and removed it. The silvery label reflected a flash of light before he tucked it into his inner cloak pocket. He took a final pass at the mysterious note.

 _Verum argentum._

The simplicity of the statement mocked him. The shaking hand, the blood. Words forced down Carmichael's throat. He grimaced, thinking of Abalendu's missing throat. _Verum argentum_. One victim with the truth in his mouth, the other silenced. Neither revealing what to do next.

He tucked the note back inside the evidence box and closed the lid, the weight of Remus' wand against his chest. He returned everything else to the guard on duty.

"I'm checking out a piece of evidence for an expert evaluation," he informed the guard.

"Sign here and here," the guard said in a bored voice. He passed Sirius a clipboard without looking up. "Are you the auror on the case?"

"No."

"You'll need a signature from the case-auror."

"I've got it." Sirius hurriedly handed him the paper Moody had given him.

The guard gave him a suspicious glare, but unfolded the form. It seemed to pass his scrutiny, because he grunted and motioned for Sirius to finish filling out the clipboard.

* * *

The cobblestone street of Diagon Alley was still drenched from the rain. The setting sun burned past the clouds and reflected off the intricate pools, turning them to rivulets of molten metal. The news of the Azkaban break-out had reached the public. There was a hush over the normally busy gathering places. People hurried under the eaves of the building in groups, whispering to each other and jumping at sudden noises.

Sirius pulled up his hood despite the warmth, not very keen on being recognized. He wanted nothing more than to be with Harry at the Burrow, to allow comfortable company to soothe his fears. But there was one last thing to do. Striding purposely, he made his way to a familiar storefront and slipped inside. A ghostly bell rang deep within, but the man he wanted to see was already at the front counter.

"Ah, Sirius Black," Ollivander said in a thin voice. "Twelve inches, dragon heartstring and silver fir."

"Yes," Sirius said, too focused to be discomforted by the moon-like eyes. "The day you sold me that wand, you said to me that it would take a great deal of magic to fool such a complex magical object."

"It would indeed."

"But it wouldn't be impossible?"

Ollivander's strange eyes sharpened. Then, he wetted his lips and asked, "Is there something I can do to help you, Mr. Black?"

He reached into his cloak pocket and withdrew the black box and placed it on the counter gently. "Cypress and unicorn hair. Ten and a quarter inches."

After a moment, Ollivander stretched out steady, wizened fingers and opened the box. He did not touch the wand, but simply observed it where it lay in cheap tissue paper.

"This is the wand I sold to Remus Lupin," he murmured. "A wand of cypress belongs to a noble wizard, one willing to face any shadow, make any sacrifice. He was already touched by shadows then." His hushed voice filled the dim wand-shop. With a graceful movement he drew the box closer and a tiny crease appeared between his white eyebrows. "Why have you brought it to me?"

"The only spell it's performed since its recovery is prior incantato, according to the rules and guidelines protecting wands as evidence. "

"You want to know if it's true?" Ollivander enquired delicately. "If a wand could be convinced to lie?"

"Yes."

Finally, Ollivander reached out and lifted the wand. He handled it gently, an artisan and his craft.

"I'm afraid it would be nearly impossible," said the wandmaker softly. But he turned the wand over slowly, running his fingers across the smooth wood, his head tilted as if listening. "Whoever did so would have to have a deep understanding of wandlore."

He was silent for several minutes, then tilted the wand and intoned, "Prior incantato."

For the second time, Sirius watched as the wand hesitated, then released the image of Remus Lupin.

Again, Remus did not speak. Again, he took in his surroundings without comment, only his expression showing the slightest perturbations at the sight of the wandmaker, of the shelves, of the alley outside. Again, his gaze settled on Sirius with the weight of a lifetime.

Then he was gone.

"You wish to bring him back," stated the wandmaker. Pity dampened his coin bright eyes.

Sirius had had enough pity for the day. "The wand was found on the body of your apprentice, Liam Carmichael, the day he died."

Ollivander stilled.

"You have three days," Sirius said quietly. Then he left the wandmaker in the shadows of his shop and stepped out into the darkening gold of dusk. The street was abandoned as the night drew nearer. All the puddles cooled to silver plated veins, as if the cobblestones and buildings of Diagon Alley had risen up into the world through a smooth mirror.

* * *

 **A/N: Getting closer...Man I'm so sorry for making everyone wait so long between each chapter... Please review if you get the chance and thanks for reading! Also, once more I just got tired of sitting on this chapter for ages and just published it, but did not edit as closely as I would have liked. Feel free to let me know if grammar or wording isn't right :)**


	17. Despair, Hope

**Hello lovely readers! I had some time over Thanksgiving break, so here is the next installment. Thank you again for your reviews and for favoriting/following this story! I hope you like this next chapter, it's a big one :)**

 **-Cat**

* * *

Chapter 17

Despair/Hope

 _December 2, 1982_

 _He never planned to come here again. But it seemed that tonight the Shrieking Shack had come to him. Wrapped him in wreckage. Floorboards creaked beneath his bare feet. They were soft with dust and littered with splinters, as they always were. All the furniture was broken._

 _There was a baby crying above him, desperate, weak. Remus pushed himself to the stairs, fingers grasping peeling wallpaper. His vision blurred. It was too dark…_

 _Gauzy curtains on the open window floated on thick, slow-moving air. The bedroom was empty. The baby's cries echoed around him, mixing with mad laughter and too many voices clamoring in his skull._

" _Lily, take Harry and go!"_

" _Not Harry please, not Harry!"_

" _Lily and James, Sirius, how could you?!"_

" _You're much more than this, Moony."_

 _He was on his knees. He was being pulled apart. The voices were too loud, battering him to the ground, shouting, pleading until-_

 _Nothing but silence._

 _Then the door to the bedroom started to open. Remus scrambled across the floorboards. It mustn't open. He had to protect them…_ They're not here- _He threw his weight against the door. It rotated on its hinges with steady insistence-he couldn't stop it-_

" _No!"_

 _He was blasted backwards, he was falling, falling-_

The breath whooshed out of his lungs as he hit the floor. Pain lanced like fire up his hip, through fresh wounds on his chest.

"Harry!"

But Remus was alone.

He leaned slowly back against his threadbare couch, gulping air into his lungs and shivering. Adrenaline was still snapping through his veins, and he could taste bitter panic on his tongue. There was no one in his apartment. Still, the hair prickled on the back of his neck.

He went to his single window and looked out. The moon was rising, swollen and grotesque, but waning. Last night had been a rough moon. The street lights illuminated the shadows of tired people walking on the streets. A few cars grumbled by, kicking up dead leaves. They whispered across the concrete with dry voices.

He winced, hearing James' shout again.

 _Focus_. _It was just a nightmare._

He pulled on a jumper. His cloak followed the jumper, along with a second-hand scarf. Then he gathered himself together and drew his wand. He'd already formed a plan for after the moon. Now, in the residue of bad dreams, it seemed more urgent. _Destination, determination, deliberation._

With a resounding crack, he reappeared on a hillside of trees. A light dusting of snow laced the tree trunks and settled on the grass, reflecting the moonlight and filling the place with ambient silver glow. Remus averted his gaze from the derelict building on the hilltop and marched towards the village, which shone through the trees like gold.

It was almost too easy to slip into Honeydukes and steal down into the cellar. The passageway was damp, but at least it was warmer. He trudged along, having to duck in places, his spine and ribs protesting. But he continued doggedly until he reached the one-eyed witch statue. A quick reconnaissance revealed that the hallway was empty. Feeling a long-lost light of rebellion he'd thought had died with his friends, Remus exited the tunnel and strode purposefully through the corridors and stairwells.

There were still plenty of students out of their dormitories. He took several shortcuts and hidden passages when he could. When he couldn't he attempted to straighten his spine and fix his posture. Like he was supposed to be there. Like he wasn't some wayward werewolf infiltrating the school.

He made it all the way to the golden griffin statue without incident. Here was where his plan failed. He did not know the password.

Thinking of Alice Longbottom's candy wrappers, he started with, "Droobles. Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans."

Nothing.

"Lemon drop… no. Okay. Cockroach cluster? Fizzing whizzbee? Sugar quill, jelly slug, chocolate frog-"

"Acid pop."

Remus froze. In front of him, the griffin statue spiraled upwards, revealing the staircase to Dumbledore's office. But he barely noticed. He would recognize that voice anywhere.

"Here uninvited, Lupin? A bit rude, don't you think? The Headmaster is a very busy man."

Remus revolved.

Severus Snape glowered at him, dark curtains of hair framing his sallow face. His obsidian eyes sparked with an unnamed emotion.

They stared at each other from across the hallway for a long interval. Remus' brain seemed to be jammed in place, unable to process past the words "Snivellus" and "Death Eater." Both were hissed in Sirius' voice, which eventually forced his logical side to do damage control. He knew that Dumbledore had cleared Snape's name a year ago, claiming he turned spy against Voldemort. He'd barely seen the man since their seventh year.

Remus blinked and tried to see Snape again in this moment. Then he gathered himself.

"Good evening, Snape," he said smoothly. "Do you have a meeting with the Headmaster?"

"Not at this time, no," Snape replied.

"Then what are you doing here?"

"I'm a member of the faculty, Lupin. Potions master."

Remus paused. His first reaction was to laugh. Followed swiftly by a flash of poisonous jealousy. Keeping a straight face, he said, "I was… unaware of that development."

"Yes. It seems that even ex-Death Eaters have that privilege over… dark creatures," Snape sneered, reading past Remus' mask.

Remus had to strongly resist the urge to hex him. They weren't children anymore. He worked his unused facial muscles into a small smile. "How lovely for you, Severus," he said evenly.

Snape glared at him. Remus did not break eye-contact, keeping his face the picture of contentment. Whatever satisfaction Snape was hoping to gain from this conversation, Remus would not give it to him. An old enemy would not tear him down with a few well-chosen words.

The silent tension lengthened. Remus waited. Finally, something shifted in Snape's ambiguously dark eyes. He blinked, languidly, and turned his head to gaze just over Remus' shoulder.

"We aren't so different, you and I," he whispered softly.

"Aren't we?" Remus asked, lifting an eyebrow. But the revelation hit him straight in the lungs.

"I… imagine that this has not been the easiest year."

Remus swallowed. Now he was also averting his gaze. There was something far too intimate about this conversation. If they looked each other in the eye now… Remus wondered if he would be able to see every delicate vessel encasing the cold bastard's heart.

"No," he said in a strangled voice. Why he was admitting this to Severus Snape, he had no idea. Probably because a lie would be laughably obvious. "It hasn't."

The smile that twisted Snape's mouth was raw and bitter. "Loneliness will smother the both of us then."

Remus let out a breathy, empty laugh. "Well. Misery loves company."

"I still loathe you, Lupin."

"Feeling's mutual."

"Severus, Remus. I see you've found some common ground," said a third voice.

The Headmaster himself stood behind Remus, midnight blue robes draping his tall figure. Remus realized it had been a year since he'd seen Dumbledore, though he had started responding to his letters. He'd forgotten the presence that the other wizard had, the way he made you feel like he could see straight into your soul. Over his half-moon glasses, his eyes were as bright and piercing as ever.

"Did you need anything Severus?"

"I was just leaving," Snape murmured. Without another glance in Remus' direction, he swept away, black cloak billowing behind him. The dim hallway swallowed him.

"I'm glad you came to visit," said Dumbledore pleasantly to Remus, as if they had planned this meeting for some time. "Shall we go up?"

Remus nodded mutely. They ascended the spiral staircase and entered the Headmaster's office. He ducked his head, not making eye contact with any of the portraits. The soft whirring of Dumbledore's instruments filled the space. On the perch by the desk was the Headmaster's brilliantly plumaged phoenix. Fawkes blinked at him intelligently and let out a low, mournful cry.

"It's been some time since I've had you in my office, Remus. Though you were more frequent of a visitor than most students, I will say."

"Yes, we were here often, weren't we?" Remus murmured faintly. He took a seat opposite of Dumbledore's place at his desk.

"You four made our lives interesting, certainly."

Remus changed the subject. "Snape is potions master?"

"He is. It's his first year teaching, but he's learning."

"But…"

"My hiring decisions are my own, Remus."

"Right."

"Tea?"

"Please."

Dumbledore called softly, "Della?"

A house elf appeared, her huge ears flapping and her wide eyes taking in the sight of Remus and the Headmaster. Remus smiled at her, recognizing her right away.

"Master Remus," she squeaked in delight. "Della is so happy to be seeing you, sir!"

"And you, Della."

"Would you be wanting hot chocolate?" she asked with a wide, knowing grin.

"I… yes, actually," Remus answered. How long had it been since he'd had hot chocolate?

"And tea for the Headmaster?"

"Thank you, Della."

She disappeared with a crack, reappearing an instant later with steaming mugs of tea and cocoa. Remus wrapped his hands around his mug, enjoying the rich aroma.

"Some things don't change much, do they?" he observed once Della had disapparated again.

"No," agreed Dumbledore. The corners of his eyes were crinkled, though his expression remained serious. "War and peace come and go, but Hogwarts will always be here for those who need it." He sipped his tea solemnly, scrutinizing Remus critically. Remus shifted, aware that he still bore signs of the moon in the purple bruising on his face and the bags under his eyes. "What can I do for you, Remus?"

"I… it could be nothing, but…"

"I'm sure it isn't nothing."

Remus swallowed. Then he said, "You know that Moody has been… keeping tabs on me."

"Yes."

"We've been tracking the movements of Death Eaters. Greyback mostly, but Moody's been hunting few others that went into hiding after the war. The ones that were never caught. He believes that there are many that are still anonymous…" Remus trailed away, a new thought occuring. "Snape was a Death Eater… would he be able to-"

"He has," Dumbledore answered, anticipating the question. "But his list is incomplete. Riddle was clever. No Death Eater knew everything. Of course members of his inner circle were well known, but he had many servants."

"Hmmm. Worth a shot."

"Alastor has been keeping me informed. He has not had a great deal of support from the Ministry in recent months. Many prefer to believe that the crisis is over."

"It's not," Remus said immediately.

One of Dumbledore's silver eyebrows lifted. A year ago, Remus had been much more reluctant to accept that this war was not over.

"You said that Voldemort would return," Remus said. "How did you know?"

"I have reason to believe that he took steps to keep himself from dying," Dumbledore responded evenly. "I've known Tom Riddle for a long time, Remus. Since he was just a student and I was a professor."

It was very difficult to imagine Voldemort as a child. Remus abandoned the task and asked Dumbledore cautiously, "If he were alive, where do you think he'd go?"

"I can only guess. But I sense that you might have more to say on the subject?"

Remus nodded slowly. "I've been… traveling for work a lot. Taking notes on the anomalous behavior of magical creatures. Evaltas is trying to find a new subject for a paper. We were tracking what I thought were isolated incidents, but… I started to notice a pattern. This last place… it was a forest in Croatia. I spoke with a centaur. He wasn't very clear, but I got the impression that perhaps I've been tracking the same thing for months. The same being."

He looked across his steaming mug of chocolate to the Headmaster, hoping he understood. From the slow-motion storm building behind the calm facade, Dumbledore did. The Headmaster said nothing, but his silence spoke loudly.

"I got back just before the moon," Remus continued, sipping the chocolate and allowing the warmth to spread to his exhausted limbs. "And came here once I was able. I thought you should know."

Dumbledore studied his hands gravely. "Tell me about your research. And what the centaur had to say," he instructed in a low voice.

Remus launched into a longer explanation. About the erklings in the Black Forest, the graphorns in Austria, the unexplained migrations in Croatia. He included that there was someone else following his progress, possibly a Death Eater, perhaps the same one who orchestrated the attack on the Longbottoms.

"There could be another explanation," he finished. "Some other reason, some other cause, but..."

"But you believe that you are tracing what remains of Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore finished for him. He steepled his bony fingers thoughtfully and bowed his head. "I'm glad that he had moved on from there by the time you arrived. He may be weak, but he is still dangerous. It would be foolish to face him alone."

"I know," Remus said, thinking about how Simun had said nearly the same thing. "The centaur mentioned that was for someone else…"

"Harry," Dumbledore filled in.

"I think so." He desperately wanted it to be false. But the prophecy had damned James' son to this path.

"Does anyone else know these suspicions?"

"You mean Mad-Eye," Remus stated. "No. No one."

Dumbledore hummed darkly, his expression apprehensive. "I think that you will need to tread carefully from now on, my boy. Like I said, I have known Tom for a very long time. I have come to believe that any hope of defeating him for good lies in understanding who he is. What drove him to push the boundaries of magic so far… he professed it to be power, but somehow I believe he lied."

"He told you that?"

"He came here once, to this very office. Nearly fifteen years ago. He wanted a position as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

Remus was silent, his mind calculating as a small, perhaps insignificant realization dawned on him. "That… would have been around the time Ileana Durand went to school."

Dumbledore looked at him gravely. "Yes," he answered softly. "She disappeared the following summer. It was a difficult time to be Headmaster… Are you interested because of her connection with Liam Carmichael?"

"Yes. They say now that she was an early victim of Voldemort. Do you think…"

"It is possible they encountered each other on Tom's visit? Perhaps."

"You never mentioned that to anyone?"

"I did. But at the time, Tom was considered to be a brilliant if reserved young man. Well-travelled and respected by his employer at Borgin and Burke's. His visit the year before appeared inconsequential to the investigators at the time. It wasn't until much later that the name Voldemort was being whispered in fear. By then… justice for Ms. Durand meant facing a dangerous dark wizard with many supporters."

"But… why would Ileana become a victim? She would have just been a student at the time."

"Why indeed," Dumbledore whispered. "Perhaps the professor position was not the only reason…" An umbra of thought clouded his expression, turning it dark and forbidding.

"Sir?"

"Nevermind." Then something shifted, became impenetrable. Remus felt suddenly that this was not the Headmaster he knew, but someone else. A vault of dangerous and seldom-shared secrets. "We should keep this conversation about Tom between the two of us."

"Why?" Remus asked.

"I'd rather keep the circle of knowledge as tight as possible. At least until we know more." Dumbledore sighed and looked down at his hands, old professor once more.

It was Remus' turn to scrutinize. To wonder where, beneath this seemingly transparent shell, the dangerous storm waited. He had witnessed the harder persona of Dumbledore during the war, but rarely. Here, in the office filled with whimsical instruments and comfortable patterns, the brief glimpse threw him. It sharpened his fears, cast them into sharp relief and revealed them to be far too close.

"Okay," he agreed quietly. "For now, okay."

"Thank you for your discretion, Remus." Dumbledore lifted his head against what seemed a heavy weight of sadness and looked over Remus like he was still a young student. "I would protect every single student who passes through this castle if I could," he said, so soft it was like breathing. "But I have failed many, _many_ times. There are forces in this universe much greater than I. The kind that saved Harry Potter from the killing curse. But also… also that which wills only the destruction of our humanity."

"Albus… " Remus started, unsure what to say. Did he need assurance? Remus did not have any left to give.

Dumbledore gave him a weary, knowing smile. "I do not need anything from you," he murmured. "You have already given me hope."

Remus snorted softly against a sudden hardness in his throat and whispered, "I don't think so."

His chocolate was cold and forgotten on the worn wooden surface of the Headmaster's desk. Through the window, the sky was black. Clouds had obscured the moon, the stars.

Fawkes crooned from his perch, reminding Remus of his presence. A warm, resonant note vibrated deep in his chest. Dumbledore exhaled and stood to stroke Fawkes' brilliant plumage. The silvery instruments ticked and whirred obliviously. When he spoke again, it was less assured than usual. There was a crease in his brow and the crystal clear eyes were downcast.

"You fight a battle that very few people in this world know about. Do you remember what you asked me in St. Mungo's after the first moon?"

Remus did not need Dumbledore to clarify any further. There were many first moons in his life but that one… that one would be the worst. He nodded mutely. His throat was too solid for words.

" _What am I supposed to do next?"_

" _You will need courage."_

"You found it, I think," mused Dumbledore gently. "Courage."

"Did I?"

It was an honest question, though part of Remus already knew the answer. He was still here. He was still fighting whatever was out there.

"To be able to love so deeply, even in darkness, takes a great deal of courage. You have something to hold onto, someone worth the pain and suffering. And that gives me hope."

Dumbledore returned to his desk and nudged the cool mug of chocolate with his wand to heat it. Through the slow curls of steam that drifted between them, Dumbledore's eyes became piercing. Remus felt a shudder of premonition. _We are dogged by shadows_. The shadows were circling, drawing closer.

"Hold on, Remus."

* * *

 _June 8, 1986_

Three days were almost past.

Sirius and Harry's life was in transition. Sirius would leave Harry looking morose in the Weasleys' kitchen, then return in the evening to be tackled by the five-year-old as soon as he stepped through the door. Despite Scrimgeour's promise of a lighter work-load, the days following Azkaban's failure were too busy to spare anyone. The main problems seemed to involve calming the public more than the actual hunt. Political reassurance. Yes, the auror department was doing everything; yes, the Ministry had their best operatives and investigators on the hunt; yes, the Ministry was confident that this would not happen again.

Articles published by certain authors (Rita Skeeter), did little to help the situation. Witches and wizards wrote in with thousands of reports about sightings of the three escapees. Sirius was beginning to doubt that any of them were real. The few that had a taste of verisimilitude turned out to be dead ends. One letter even came with a suspicious package that had the department checking it for curses for hours. After quite a bit of excitement, the curse-breakers discovered to their chagrin that the helpful citizen had taken it upon herself to send the rat in her basement in for positive identification as Peter Pettigrew. Sirius could not decide whether to laugh or throw something.

Three days of nothing.

It was too quiet.

In fact, it was so quiet, that Sirius was sitting at his new desk with (once again) absolutely nothing to do.

For now, he was entertaining himself by charming quills to follow their unsuspecting owners, tickling the back of their necks. One of the new trainees, Dawlish, was especially hilarious to watch. Every time the feather brushed his neck, he would spin comically, looking for the source with wild eyes, quill bobbing behind his head. Sirius turned a snort into a cough the third time it happened. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Nelson copying the motion.

Another victim was Augustine Burke, more out of spite than entertainment. Sirius maintained a chilly distance from the man since their near altercation in the conference room. He wanted nothing more than to confront him, but he did not want to provoke Burke into incriminating Remus. But after three days of dealing with ridiculous false calls, Sirius' restraint was worn thin. After a swipe of Burke's ear, the auror finally figured him out and rounded on him.

"Black!"

"Burkie, hello there," Sirius said with an innocent grin. A few people around them paused to watch.

"This is neither the time or the place for your stupid games," Burke bit out, clearly aware that they had an audience. "Are you incapable of being serious?"

"You would not believe how capable of being serious I am," Sirius replied slowly, his grin widening. Several aurors chuckled.

"Black," growled Burke. "We have a break-out on our hands, and you are goofing around like you and Potter used to-"

"Do not for a second assume that I do not know what it means to have Death Eaters out of Azkaban," Sirius interrupted. His joking mood evaporated with the reminder of James. The atmosphere in the bullpen cooled abruptly. Their audience suddenly found other things to do and the ambient noise increased.

"I hear you're checking Lupin's wand," commented Burke.

"That has nothing to do with you," Sirius said in a low voice.

Burke's mouth thinned and a flicker of triumph gathered in his dark eyes. Sirius glared at him, preparing to say something probably foolish. But the arrival of Mad-Eye Moody made him bite his tongue.

"Black, Burke, burying the hatchet, I see," he said gruffly, eyeing the both of them coolly.

"Moody," Burke greeted him smoothly.

"Can I borrow Black for a moment?"

"He's all yours," Burke replied, smirking at Sirius as he walked away. Sirius made a face at his back.

"Do you have a very good reason for trying to get a rise from him?" Mad-Eye hissed at him when Burke was out of earshot.

"No," Sirius muttered.

"Then stop acting like a child and cool it."

"Yeah. Got it."

Mad-Eye crossed his arms, watching Sirius' knee bounce madly.

"You bored?"

"Terribly."

"Same. Let's get out of here. They'll call us back if there's an emergency."

"Where are we going?"

"Wherever you want."

Sirius considered. His anger had Burke was still smoldering in his gut. He just needed to _do_ something. _Anything_ to feel useful.

"Borgin and Burke's," he said suddenly. "I have a few more questions for Mr. Borgin."

* * *

"Not even a twitch," reported Kingsley in a smooth, calming voice. That was the only way to identify the ragged homeless man leaning bonelessly against a barrel of stagnant water. He stretched his rag-wrapped feet in front of him. His disguise consisted of a wiry beard with far too much gray in it for his age and a pair of round, green-tinted sunglasses. One of the lenses was missing.

Sirius tilted his head down once to acknowledge that he'd heard from his position a couple yards away. Up on a rooftop, there was a tell-tale shimmer of a disillusioned auror watching the back entrance to Borgin and Burke's. It did not seem likely that the Azkaban escapees would hide in such a public and obvious location, but they'd doubled the watch on the shop anyway. Even the floo into the shop was being monitored remotely.

The windows were dark, reflecting the watercolor sky above. The afternoon was muggy and the air had a dense, soporific warmth. Sirius did not begrudge the aurors on guard the job was sitting in the stagnant heat. He was already anxious to go inside where the air would be cooler. But instead of approaching Borgin and Burke's, Sirius went first to the apothecary across the street. Mad-Eye took up a position just inside the door, glaring around with his magical eye. The interior was dim and smelled of rotten eggs and gym socks that had been allowed to molder for days. Sirius wrinkled his nose as he passed a barrel of slugs. From the storeroom slunk a man shaped vaguely like a giant praying mantis. Large, pale green eyes landed on Sirius and narrowed in recognition.

"What do you want?"

"Are you Mr. Lagorio?"

"Aye. I own this shop. What do you want?" repeated Mr. Lagorio. He had a nasally, irritating voice.

"About seven months ago you reported a disturbance at the shop across the street, just before midnight on Halloween."

"Yeah."

"What woke you?"

"Already awake. Heard a crash across the street."

"And you saw the intruder?"

"What does it matter?" asked Mr. Lagorio, drawing himself up. "I already reported it."

"Can you describe him?" Sirius asked bluntly, ignoring Mr. Lagorio's hostile question. Lagorio grunted something like an affirmative, eyes grazing over the bulky figure of the other auror by the door.

"It wasn't too dark. Moon was bright, coming up over the alley. Skinny fellow, walked with a limp. Door was swinging open behind him."

"Anything stand out about him?"

"No," answered Lagorio unhelpfully.

"Tall or short?" Sirius prompted, biting back his frustration.

"Tall."

"Hair color?"

"Might've been brown. Maybe blond. Hard to tell."

"Was he carrying anything?"

"Not that I saw. Didn't even have a coat."

That was curious. "Was it cold?" Sirius asked.

"Must've been, end of October. I don't recall." Mr. Lagorio considered for a moment. "Wait, he did have his wand out. Remember it in his hand."

"Did he use it?"

"Maybe when he was inside. I don't know." Lagorio's belligerent tone showed that he definitely did not care.

"Fine," sighed Sirius. "Anything else unusual that night or was that it?"

"I stay out of people's business unless it interrupts mine," grunted Lagorio, who clearly thought that Sirius could take this advice. "I have a customer."

Sirius stepped aside to allow a hunch-backed witch clutching a baggie of what looked like rat brains waddle up to the counter. She stared unblinkingly at Sirius as he made his way back into the alley, followed by Mad-Eye.

"Didn't hear anything too illuminating," commented Mad-Eye under his breath. They crossed the alley, not bothering to skirt around shoppers, who separated to give the aurors a wide berth. The wall of heat carried with it a putrid, rotting odor from the storm drains. Compared to that, the musty air of Borgin and Burke's was almost fresh.

Mr. Borgin emerged from behind the counter with the ringing of the bell over the door. His face fell when he saw who it was.

"You again," he huffed. "I tol' ya everything."

"We're here about something else," Mad-Eye said while Sirius scanned the shop. Nothing appeared to be out of place. "Halloween of last year, you had a break-in."

"Already told the aurors. Nothing was taken."

"We'd like to see the inventory from before and after."

"Ye got a warrant?"

Sirius glanced at Mad-Eye, who shrugged and muttered, "Worth a shot. You aren't as dumb as you look then."

Sirius doubted that even if they had a warrant for the inventory that everything in this shop would be recorded. All the items on display were bordering on illegal. Of course, witches and wizards were entitled to their tastes, and there were some eccentric collectors out there. Still, as he examined a case of cursed Egyptian amulets, he wondered how many loopholes in trade-law Borgin had to exploit to sell some of his goods.

"Did you see the intruder?"

"No."

"Did you hear the crash reported by Mr. Lagorio?"

"Yes," said Mr. Borgin shortly.

"What caused the crash?"

"Case fell."

"Which one."

Borgin pointed to a case near the fireplace. Sirius went over and examined it. The brass framing bore the usual wear and tear, but nothing noticeable. The glass was smudged from fingerprints and had a few scratches. "It's undamaged," he observed out loud.

"Protective enchantments," Borgin said in explanation.

"Hmm," hummed Sirius. He took a closer look at the artifacts inside the case. There was a necklace of dreamy opals with a warning label not to touch, a scroll of runes written in something that looked like blood, a delicate skeleton of some mutant creature, and an assortment of other potentially deadly items.

"Where did it land?"

Borgin gestured into one of the aisles. Away from the fireplace.

"Do you seal the floo at night?"

"I-yes." For the first time, Borgin stumbled over his answer.

"Yes?"

"Usually."

"Did you that night?"

"Maybe I didn't."

Sirius raised a single eyebrow. Any diligent shop owner with a brain seals their floo at night. It should be as habitual as locking the doors. So why was Borgin giving the impression that he had forgotten?

Sirius took a step to the fireplace and glanced to his right. He could see the peeling back door from here, between boxes and storage, and another leading into what he presumed was a cellar. He doubted Borgin would let him take a look. In the background, Mad-Eye started up more questions just to get under Borgin's skin, but Sirius was no longer listening. Mad-Eye would fill him in later.

He scanned everything in the general vicinity on the opposite side of where the glass case that had fallen. There was not much. A large ebony cabinet took up most of the space just next to the fireplace. A spindly table bowing under the weight of swirling crystal balls crouched in its shadow. A single cobweb ran from one of the balls to the mantel, furry dust coating the gossamer strands. The mantel was decorated as it had been last time Sirius was here, with black candles burning with blue flames, dripping wax onto ugly brass holders. A cracked bowl of floo powder was the only other thing there besides the chipped mirror that took up the wall.

Sirius brushed the mantel-top. His fingers came away clean.

"-I told ya, I don't know who he was and I don't care! Nothing was taken, so why the hell does it matter?"

"I'll decide what matters, Borgin," growled Mad-Eye.

The door swung open and the bell clanked. Sirius glanced around and felt disgust curl his mouth at the sight of the long sheet of platinum hair. For a moment, Lucius Malfoy paused, holding the door open and allowing the putrid heat to enter the cool interior. Sharp gray eyes took in the scene.

"Mr. Black," drawled Malfoy languidly, as if Mad-Eye's presence did not cause him any alarm. "What a surprise. You look like… well, like you're adjusting."

"Malfoy," Sirius said curtly. It was all he could do to hold back a snarl. Hatred curled through his veins, quickened with the thinly veiled reminder. Sirius had gone to Azkaban. The Death Eater before him slipped the net. The only difference was a politically oiled courtroom.

"Buying or selling?" Mad-Eye cut in shrewdly.

"Browsing," Malfoy answered lazily. The smirk on his sharp face was still directed at Sirius. As if he knew exactly what was going through Sirius' mind. "That's not illegal, is it?"

"Depends on your interests," Mad-Eye muttered under his breath.

"And you? I do hope you weren't giving Mr. Borgin too much trouble. He is a great patron of rare and valuable magical artifacts. And there are many powerful people in the Ministry who would agree with me."

"That a threat, Malfoy?" Sirius hissed, his voice recovered. His temper was still simmering like a cauldron ready to blow.

"An observation, Black." Malfoy sniffed haughtily, surveying Sirius more critically. Then, softly, he said, "It is quite soon, to allow you do join the auror force, don't you think? What was it Mesmer said in that article… that you 'must be given time to recover?'"

"The more Death Eaters I can put away the better I feel," Sirius snapped.

"And what about the hero of the wizarding world? Does he miss you while you're here playing cops and robbers?"

Sirius already had his wand brandished, curse on the tip of his tongue, when Mad-Eye's shielding charm expanded between them. From the other side, Malfoy's cold eyes glinted.

"Enough," Mad-Eye snapped. "Black, get outside. We're done here. Borgin, don't leave town. And Malfoy…" Mad-Eye fixed him with his electric blue eye. "Mind yer own bloody business."

Sirius did not stay to listen anymore. He pushed past Malfoy, checking him hard with his shoulder as he went. He barely registered that he had stomped all the way to the entrance of Diagon Alley before Mad-Eye caught up to him. The sweltering heat did not help. Blood boiling he halted abruptly in the narrow archway.

"I'm going to fucking kill him," Sirius hissed.

"Yeah. Save it for when you actually can," Mad-Eye suggested in an undertone. There was something almost feral in his voice. Sirius glared at him.

"You're enjoying this."

"Not particularly, no. But I like a good hunt. I'll check with the surveillance team to see if any other suspected supporters of You-Know-Who have been seen hanging around. The shadows are finally stirring after a long hibernation."

Sirius leaned back against the wall, which was much cooler than the stale air moldering in the passageway.

"Why though?"

"I think we may be getting closer to the answer to that question," said Mad-Eye.

Sirius blew air out of his nostrils. His jaw was starting to hurt, so he loosened it. The pressure on his teeth subsided slightly. The low rumble of people in Diagon Alley drifted to them. Distantly, Sirius heard a mad, tuneless singing.

"Moon's arisin', your wolves are coming out to play, run away, run away! They the hunters, you the prey! Hee hee hee… _you the prey, you the prey_ , ha ha ha!"

"We'd better head back and write up a report," muttered Mad-Eye, glancing in the direction of the disembodied cackle.

"I'll meet you," Sirius said, anxiety suddenly clawing its way to the forefront of his mind. "I need to collect the wand from Ollivander."

"Right."

Mad-Eye scrutinized him for several seconds.

"I'll be waiting then," he said with finality.

"Okay." Sirius felt the fault lines shudder beneath his fragile reality. He'd done an admirable job of ignoring them for the last three days. He couldn't for much longer. What would he do once he learned the truth?

" _Hope is a merciless killer."_

Ollivander's shop smelled strongly of sweet wood shavings and polish when Sirius entered. The air, though musty as usual, somehow tasted cleaner after the closed space of Knockturn and Diagon Alley. Sirius was familiar with the ghostly chimes deep within the shop. This time, Mr. Ollivander's thin voice beckoned, "Come into my workroom, Mr. Black."

Intrigued, Sirius skirted around precarious piles of wandboxes and shelves. He wondered how many people had seen the inner sanctum of the wandmaker. It was smaller than Sirius had imagined, with a high ceiling. There was a small stove that glowed scarlet inside. A tea kettle was steaming gently next to it. Shelves of tiny, intricate tools and labeled apothecary drawers filled the walls. Light streamed from a narrow window onto a neat desk, where there was a complex set of multiple lenses in brass holders. Mr. Ollivander was seated, his eyes alarmingly magnified as he whittled a slender piece of pale wood. At his elbow, a delicate strand of pearly white was clamped in a stand, gleaming in the shaft of sunlight.

"Good afternoon," said Mr. Ollivander. He finished one last stroke with his penknife, then set the half-formed wand on his desk.

"Good afternoon," returned Sirius. He couldn't say anything else. Nerves numbed his tongue in his mouth.

"Have a seat, Mr. Black."

Sirius lowered himself into a spindly wooden chair on his side of the desk. The wandmaker pushed the lenses aside and stood. Sirius watched him pull a set of keys from his pocket and methodically search for the right one. Once he had, he inserted it into one of the many little drawers in the wall and turned. With a click, the door unlocked and he removed the plain black wandbox.

"Ten and a quarter inches," murmured Ollivander as he gently set the box down and opened it. He rambled on, almost to himself. "The wood came from a cypress tree that grew in the Alborz mountain region of Iran. And the unicorn that allowed me to take one of its hairs was quite old and wise. It is rare to collect hair from an older unicorn. They are more discerning. More cautious. My grandfather collected a few from the more experienced specimens, but that was my first..."

Deft, steady fingers lifted the wand and positioned it on the desk.

"Such a terrible thing to lose so much," continued the wandmaker under his breath. Was he speaking of Sirius or his lost friend? "I can understand why you would want him back. Why he faded out of the world."

Both then. Sirius went from studying the tapered wand to studying Ollivander's face. Thick eyebrows so white they were almost translucent drew together around a wrinkle in his pale forehead.

"Have you been to the Potters' grave, Mr. Black?"

The question stupefied Sirius for a moment. The correct answer was no. But he did not want the wandmaker to ask the inevitable follow-up. Sirius would not be able to explain why.

"I only ask because Death will always be a mystery to beings as small as us. We can seek to understand it, to prevent it, even accept it. But never deny that it is."

Sirius' heart felt like a large, heavy stone. He could ignore its weight enough to say, "No, I haven't been to their grave."

"Perhaps you should, when you are ready," suggested the wandmaker. Then, his attention returned to the thin object between them. "This life is quite a wondrous and painful chapter in the stories of our souls. But only the first chapter. The Potters have gone on."

"And Remus?" Sirius could not stop himself from asking.

"The wand knows," replied Ollivander.

Sirius' organs seemed to have disappeared entirely.

"It's given its knowledge many times. As the answer to the wrong questions."

His brain returned, jammed with confusion. "I don't understand."

Ollivander withdrew his own wand from the inner lining of his jacket. "Wandlore takes a lifetime of study, and even then, it is difficult to fully comprehend" he explained. "An apprentice starts with a very simplified basis. A wand is an object that focuses magic, reacts to it and channels it according to certain principles." To demonstrate, Ollivander wordlessly motioned with the tip of his wand. Remus' wand floated up an inch above the desk. "My intellect and will are somehow communicated to the wand in a manner too complex for the beginner to comprehend. It is sufficient to describe the reaction as some kind of causal relationship. The thought 'wingardium leviosa' plus the swish and flick causes an object to hover."

Ollivander glanced at Sirius, who motioned for him to continue.

"Let us then just consider the wand and the will, then," said the wandmaker, a gleam in his eye. "The will is what induces a reaction in the wand, which in turn has a certain effect. Action to medium, which has a reaction. Not unlike stones thrown into a pond. The stone is the action, the pond is the medium-"

"The ripples are the reaction," Sirius concluded. He could feel his organs now, light and strange.

"Yes!" said Ollivander, looking pleased that his audience was catching on quickly. "Now assume that we have control over the conditions of our pond. If we want the pond to reflect things exactly the way they are, we would stop any wind from flowing over the water, prevent any stones or stray leaves from disturbing the surface, and so on. If we want the pond to bend reality, we could blow across the surface, throw in a feather or a boulder. Or, since the pond corresponds to the wand in our metaphor, we could just will it so. The ripples are then the changes in the fabric of space and time, what we call magic."

"But what if the pond is frozen?" Sirius realized aloud.

"Indeed," agreed Ollivander. "It would only show the exact configuration in which it was frozen."

"You think the wand is frozen?" Sirius asked, excitement making his voice louder. "That it's frozen in some kind of…incorrect ripple formation. Something that says Remus is dead."

"No," said Ollivander. His lips twitched in amusement at Sirius' slumping shoulders. "No, that would take a great deal of energy to mold the surface into the correct shape and freeze it solid. Too much, I think. I believe that our pond is simply shielded. It is a smooth mirror of water beneath a sheet of glass. The pond reflects reality just as it is. No wind, no stones, or will can change the surface of a mirror."

"But… that would mean… what would that mean?"

"That perhaps…" Ollivander hesitated, watching Sirius' face. "Perhaps Mr. Lupin still exists in this chapter of the world."

Sirius was silent, feeling his lungs expand, feeling himself get overwhelmed by the sudden flow of oxygen. Had he not really taken a breath since he left Azkaban?

"How?" he whispered. "How would it… how would Carmichael…there are so many things it could show, why just Remus?"

"Ah, yes. Here's where are metaphor fails," conceded Ollivander. "The wand is much more complex than a simple pool of water. I believe it only responds to our urging with an image of Remus because Remus is still its master. Its whole reality comprises of the mind it knows deeper than anything else. And as for how Carmichael did it…" Ollivander sighed heavily, his eyes darkening. "He was so gifted. He came from the Department of Mysteries with years of experience, studying magic's place in the fabric of space and time. I still can't answer exactly what he did, only that the shield would have to be utterly undetectable, and linked to a strong source of magic, perhaps even Remus himself. If I had more time…"

But Sirius did not have the power to give it. Not now, while their investigation balanced on the edge of a precipice. He reverently plucked the wand from where it still hovered in the air and wrapped it in its tissue lining. Then, when he was prepared to return it to the ministry, he paused.

"One last question," he said. "Why doesn't he speak?"

"I don't know," said Ollivander softly. "I'm afraid that you will have to discover for yourself."

Sirius nodded absently, figuring that this would be the case.

"Thank you," he said sincerely to the wandmaker. He left Ollivander in his workshop, among the wood-shavings and lenses. Outside once more, the heat had lifted. He had never seen a sky so blue.

* * *

 **A/N: that hopefully makes sense so far... (I'm a scientist so I can't help some technical explanations every once and a while). Please review with your thoughts!**


	18. Gold, Silver

**Hi Everyone! I'm basically posting this chapter as proof-of-life. Yes, I am still around and this story is still in progress. I took a bit of a hiatus from writing just to take care of my real world stuff, but I'm getting back into it and hoping for inspiration :).**

 **Thank you so so much for all the reviews and encouragement. Those of you who are also writers know how much it means to an author when someone takes the time to leave a comment, so just know that I am so grateful for your support.**

 **Hope you like this one!**

 **-Cat**

 **P.S. As usual, I don't have a beta or anything, so if you catch a grammar or spelling error, you can let me know in a review or PM. It may not bother you, but it would drive me crazy haha :)**

* * *

Chapter 18

Gold/Silver

 _December 20, 1982_

He'd been awake all night, thinking.

The dawn broke through the thick horizon of trees. The snow in the sunlight was like butter, spread across the ground in a creamy layer, broken by the long blue shadows like veins. In the park bench overlooking the swing-set, Remus shifted, causing pins and needles to tingle through his cold limbs.

He had not slept well since his meeting with Dumbledore. Well, since meeting Simun in the forest really. Nightmares that had lessened in intensity suddenly returned full force. Dreams of James cut down like an animal by Voldemort, the sound of Lily pleading, Peter begging Sirius…

And worse, Harry's screaming punctuating the darkness. Remus would search frantically, but feel himself going blind, fading away to nothing, losing any feeling.

He could not keep going like this. He'd probably go mad soon. If he wasn't already.

And yet here he was again, after another sleepless night, watching the sun rise on the entrance to Privet Drive. Harry was safe. Voldemort was… far away, he hoped. He prayed.

He stayed where he was until he could see the muggles leaving their houses and scraping snow from their cars, preparing for another boring day at work. Then he forced his stiff knees to straighten. The hip that he'd injured over a year ago protested painfully. Snow that had built up on his shoulders during the night fell to the ground in his own personal blizzard. He stomped some feeling back into his feet, then limped to the sidewalk. He did not look down Privet Drive, lest he be tempted to knock on the door to Number Four, just to get a glimpse of Harry.

Mad-Eye would be livid if he knew what Remus was keeping from him. Voldemort was in Europe somewhere, weak and half-formed, but there, according to Simun the centaur. And confirmed by Dumbledore's somber countenance. But no one else but he and Dumbledore would know. The world was not ready to know that evil lived, according to the Headmaster. But did they need to know?

Remus wasn't sure what to believe. And was definitely feeling guilty for not telling Mad-Eye, which was why he'd been avoiding him (this was proving difficult).

His thoughts were broken by the revving of a car engine right beside him. Remus paused, an echo of a motorbike ghosting through his mind. Then he turned. The car windows flashed golden sunlight at him, momentarily blinding him until the window rolled down. Behind it was a huge man with a face that was prune-colored with disgust. The mustache bristled violently.

"We don't allow tramps in this neighborhood. Scram before I call the police."

Remus stared. He was not trying to be rude, but he recognized the driver. It was Vernon Dursley.

"You hear me?" spluttered the man. "I've seen you around here before and I will not tolerate it any longer. Get lost!"

"I heard you," Remus said in a warning voice. He was recovered from the shock now and surveyed the man with intense dislike.

"Are you going to listen?" snarled Dursley. "Because I'm not afraid to teach you lesson right here and now."

"I assure you, you would regret it if you did, Dursley," Remus interrupted tersely, controlling his anger expertly. "Nevertheless, you won't see me here again." His use of the man's name had the desired effect. His purple face drained to be as gray as the dirty snow on the road.

"You… you…" he gasped. "Your k-kind are not welcome here!"

Remus raised an unimpressed brow, his inner reaction smoothly covered by a lifetime of practice. He knew that Vernon was speaking of wizards in general, but the prejudice was all too familiar.

"You'll be late for work."

"If you go anywhere _near_ -"

"Your wife and child are safe from me," Remus promised. "As for your nephew… he'd better be well cared for. Just because you will never see me again does not mean I will not be watching."

Dursley made a sound like the air being let out of a balloon. Remus glared at him, allowing some of his lupine nature to burn into his irises. With a heavy gulp, the man quickly cranked the window back up. Remus glimpsed his gaunt reflection before the car sped away with a squeal of tires. A _whoosh_ of cold slush soaked his pant legs, but he hardly noticed.

He stood frozen for a long time. Until the golden sky turned blue and shone in the icy street like a mirror.

Then he turned abruptly and walked back the way he came. He made it all the way Number Two before his brain caught up with him. He could not be here. He needed to be fighting for Harry, not waiting around uselessly for the inevitable.

Carmichael. He needed to find Liam Carmichael and make him talk. He needed to know exactly what happened to Ileana Durand. Why Greyback was so interested in a wandmaker. Who the missing Death Eater was, operating in the shadows, torturing and killing to resurrect the Dark Lord. Somehow, _somehow_ , this all had to connect.

If he could just find the connection, everything would be okay. Harry would be safe.

He was nothing if he could not protect the one precious thing he had left.

" _Hold on, Remus."_

He let the words take root in his chest.

" _Hold on."_

But still, he felt like he was vanishing.

* * *

His hand was red with cold when he raised it to knock on the peeling green door.

The door opened, revealing a thin man with hair like straw. It was patchy in places, like it had been torn out. His eyes were bloodshot in their sockets.

"Who're you?" he asked hoarsely.

"Remus Lupin," Remus introduced himself. "May I come in, Mr. Carmichael?"

Liam Carmichael's mouth hung open slightly.

"Liam, who is it?" called a woman's voice from inside the house. Carmichael's already pale skin blanched to a milky color.

"Old friend from work, Mellie," he said back over his shoulder, injecting false cheer into his voice. Then he turned back to Remus. "Fancy a walk?"

"Okay," Remus said agreeably. He did not ask any questions, simply waited for Carmichael to don a coat and scarf. He jammed his hands hastily into woolen gloves. Remus blinked. Had he imagined those fine, white lines on the man's hands? Carmichael tossed a nervous glance up and down the street, stepped outside and closed the door firmly behind him.

Silently, Carmichael lead the way down the sidewalk. It was the kind of winter's day where everything was blank. The blue of the morning had gone, and the sky was low. Its dove gray belly skimmed just above the rooftops. A mist shrouded anything more than fifteen meters away from Remus' face. Snow crunched beneath their boots in the quiet neighborhood. Carmichael paused at a street corner, checking for cars. There were none. It seemed like the two of them were the only people in the entire world, lost in a sea of fog.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"Depends," Remus answered slowly. "Do you know me somehow?"

"I've never met you," answered the other man. He started walking again, crossing the street with deliberate strides. "But I know who you are."

"How?"

"Papers mentioned you," said Liam. He kept his gaze straight ahead into the mist. "Little more than a year ago. You're a friend of Black's."

Remus wondered if Liam was lying. He had purposely avoided any newspaper for a long time. For all he knew, Liam could be telling the truth. "I _was_ a friend of Black's," he corrected.

Liam's eyes flicked to him. "You're a werewolf," he stated.

"Yes, I am," Remus replied quietly after a pause. He said nothing in his defense, sensitive to the man's loss the year before.

"Werewolf killed my son," said Liam gruffly. He stopped and glared directly at Remus. "So I'll ask again, what do you want?"

Remus was surprised by the amount of desperation in Liam's tone. As if he were not angry or hostile, simply… trapped.

"I'm not here to hurt you or your wife," he assured him softly. "I just wanted… I wanted to ask you about Ileana Durand."

"Ileana?" Liam whispered. His eyes became distant, conflicted.

"You were her friend."

"I was. She and Mellie were best friends. And we were all… we were all good friends." Liam's throat clicked as he swallowed. His eyes, which had been staring past the gray backdrop, were now fixed on Remus, wide and forget-me-not blue.

"Then she died," Remus finished, leaving the silence open for Liam to fill. The fixed stare was beginning to feel uncomfortable, like Liam was trying to bore holes into his carefully crafted walls.

"Yes, yes she died," Liam stuttered. "Never… never the same. We were in pieces afterwards. Not friends."

"You and Mellie are married," Remus pointed out.

"We are married, yes. T-twelve years now. We were happy for most…" He trailed away. He was wringing his hands, scanning their foggy, white surroundings. His eyes were wide, as if opening them more could help him penetrate the blankness. "But it was just us. We were all good friends, you see."

"You said that. Who is 'we'?" Remus probed.

"W-we were… it was Mellie and Ileana and I. Owais. And…" He paused and wiped sweat from his brow. "And Euri," he added in a rush. Then he seemed to be holding his breath and counting, his eyes rolling in his head.

Unnerved, Remus asked, "Who is Euri?"

"Euri," breathed out Liam. He was very pale. "Euri was Ileana's boyfriend. They were… they were in love like Mellie and I. And he was… my friend. Best friend even."

"Not anymore?"

"No… we had a bit of a falling out, after… after it happened. N-never saw him again, except in passing. It was always awkward."

"What is his full name?"

"Pyrites. Eurion Pyrites."

Remus had to exercise a lot of self-discipline to keep his face from showing any surprise. Pyrites. The same clerk who had come to his meeting at the Ministry. Who had nothing to say except to comment on his loss. His mind raced, picking up possibilities, wondering, turning… Pyrites was connected with this mysterious man before him. With Ileana Durand, whose death had never been fully understood. A half-blood victim of the Dark Lord.

"Tell me about Pyrites," he instructed softly.

Liam's breath hitched. "Good… good kid. Met at Hogwarts. We were in different houses, but he was a bit of an outcast so we adopted him into our group of friends. I… I regret so much… I shouldn't have been so angry with him…"

"Angry?"

"I thought-I thought he knew why she was gone. He was one of them."

"One of who?"

"Slytherin. But they never liked him, he was… different. I was wrong, I should never have-"

"He was a Slytherin?" Remus asked, his heart-rate increasing despite himself.

"I know what you're thinking," Liam muttered.

"Did he join the Death Eaters?"

Liam made a funny sound, almost like a huff of laughter. Or like he was choking on something. "N-no," he answered breathily. He looked at the fog, the ground, anywhere but Remus. "No. No, he didn't. H-hated them. Ileana… he loved her. He loved her. He did, he…"

Remus felt confusion warring in his brain. He could not reconcile the cold man he had met in the Ministry interrogation room with the lost child Liam was describing. Who was Pyrites, the child or the mask?

"Who killed her?" he asked, trying a more direct approach.

"I don't know."

Was that a lie or the truth? Remus had been struggling with this question too much during this conversation. And in the past year.

"Voldemort-" Liam flinched violently and turned the color of their surroundings, blending into them. "-came to Hogwarts at the end of your sixth school year," Remus continued doggedly. "She never returned on September first the following year. What do you know about that?"

"N-nothing." Liam looked as if he were breaking, trembling in the desolate cold and wringing his hands incessantly.

"Surely you-"

"I don't know anything!" Liam interrupted. His hoarse shout was like cracking ice in the silence. Remus startled slightly at the sudden change. His heart calmed down and he scrutinized the wandmaker.

"You know what I think?" he murmured. "I think you're lying."

"You're a monster," hissed Liam. Vitriol and fear swelled in his words. "No one cares what you think."

"I have some powerful people in my corner," Remus said. "They could protect you."

Liam's wringing hands stilled. "Protect me from what?"

"From… from whatever is making you lie. I noticed… your hands have scars-"

"I don't need protection. There is no threat. You are mistaken."

"The scars-" Remus tried again.

"Accident at work a long time ago. When I was with the Department of Mysteries."

There was no way for Remus to verify this, so he moved on. "Where did you go last spring?"

"T-trip for work."

"I heard. But that isn't true, is it?"

"It is," insisted Liam, looking anywhere but at Remus.

A door slamming penetrated the muffling atmosphere. Both men's heads snapped in the direction of the noise and watched solemnly as a muggle stomped to his car. The engine sputtered, then roared to life. The wheels crunched loudly in the driveway and then the car was rumbling away, brake-lights shockingly red in the gray. Like flares.

" _Hold on, Remus."_

He thought of Harry.

"What happened to your son Liam?" Remus asked softly. "Why did Greyback want to hurt you?"

"You… you… that isn't-how _dare_ you-" Liam sputtered into silence, stricken and wringing his hands faster than ever.

"I'm sorry," Remus said after a pause. "I'm just trying to understand. You loved your son. Why stay silent?"

Liam rounded on Remus, his hair flying. "How _dare_ you accuse me of-of-" But words seemed to still be failing the man. A vein stood out at his temple and his eyes were crazed.

"I'm not accusing you. I'm just wondering if there is more to the story."

"You… you should go, Lupin. Forget what I said here."

Liam's breath was coming heavily, drifting as clouds of smoke. Remus could hear the cold air wheezing in his lungs. His gloved hands wrung over each other constantly.

"I don't think those scars were from an accident," Remus observed softly. "Does this have to do with your friend Eurion Pyrites?"

Liam's sudden stillness was unnerving. As if he had suddenly remembered something very important. After a minute of gathering himself, his neck rotated glacially so he could look directly through Remus. Then Liam's pale lips lifted into a fake smile.

"No."

The denial was as good as an admission. Yet the victory felt hollow as Remus considered Liam. His heart pounded, suddenly anxious. He knew all too well that there were consequences to losing everything.

"I'm sorry about your son, Mr. Carmichael," he murmured as he stepped away. Carmichael's mask was unmoved, but his covered hand spasmed. Like a puppet that barely remembered that once it was human. The puppet master could not be far away.

"Good-bye, Mr. Lupin," Liam said hoarsely.

But Remus was already too far to hear, all thoughts eclipsed by Harry, a faceless Death Eater, and seven golden beans.

* * *

 _June 14, 1986_

It was another week before the hysteria following the Azkaban breakout began to settle. The aurors were still working around the clock, but there was no sign of Lestrange, Rookwood, or Pettigrew. It was as if the three of them had vanished off the face of the earth. The Ministry was now coordinating with other Ministries around the world and most people were starting to believe that maybe nothing would happen. Maybe they could sleep soundly again.

"I mean, if I escaped Azkaban, I'd scarper. Get as far away as possible."

"Same. You-Know-Who's gone, so what would be the point of sticking around? They could be in Australia for all we know!"

Sirius was starting to hear it more and more around the Ministry. Only the auror department remained on edge. Mad-Eye's paranoia was contagious (at first). He had taken to starting each day by lecturing everyone within hearing distance about constant vigilance and the dangers of complacency. It had the entire department jumping at the slightest movement. But now, after seven days of startling at nothing, the young aurors were starting to roll their eyes.

"You're laying it on a little thick, don't you think?" Sirius muttered to him on Saturday morning. "They're going to stop taking you seriously."

"They don't know what we know," Mad-Eye growled darkly. "And we know far too little."

Mad-Eye's reaction to the news about Remus' wand had been… disquieting. The grizzled auror was lost for words for the first time since Sirius met him. Then, like a switch had been flipped, he became a perpetual motion machine, fuelled by what Sirius could only describe as rage. Rage directed at the Death Eaters, at anyone who dared suggest that there was no reason for their escape, and (Sirius suspected) at himself.

"We know enough to keep looking," Sirius pointed out.

"Hmph. Right. And while we're stumbling around like bloody idiots, the Death Eaters can be doing whatever the hell they want. We still don't know how they got out in the first place or where Eurion Pyrites skipped off to and why," grunted Mad-Eye. "The truth is a fucking rainbow or whatever it is. If Lupin really is still alive, I'm going to kill him myself."

"Sounds fair," Sirius said, his lips twitching. He ignored the voice deep in his head that wondered, " _If he's still alive, why isn't he here?"_

The possible answers to that question were paralyzing.

The day did not get better. Most of it was spent stewing in the conference room in front of a map of Europe, lit up with flashing markers color-coded to the most credible sightings. Most of them were red, which indicated low priority. Running on what felt like his own body weight in caffeine, Sirius played out his own scenarios, marking them down on the map, then erasing them over and over. More than once, he found himself frozen, staring at some city or coastline and wondering if Remus was there, reading a book and breathing free air. Then a noise or visitor brought him crashing back to reality. He was looking for the traitor right now. Not Remus.

He did not even read past the front page of the paper, which is why he didn't see it.

Luckily (for the other aurors in the department), Mad-Eye did see the article and locked Sirius in his office before gravely holding out _The Daily Prophet,_ folded to page 5. The letters flashed bold above the finely printed column, _FRIENDS IN LOW PLACES: JAMES POTTER'S DARKER CONNECTIONS, by RITA SKEETER._

Sirius snatched it immediately, feeling dizzy with the onslaught of rage. Everything in his peripheral vision went dark.

 _In the wake of the breakout from Azkaban, the Ministry has dedicated itself to apprehending the escapees. One in particular has because a household name: Peter Pettigrew. It was only recently that Pettigrew was revealed as the traitor that sold the Potters to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The reader may recall that just a few short months ago, Pettigrew was a household name for entirely different reasons: the tragically murdered hero, friend of James Potter and Sirius Black._

 _But was Pettigrew the only traitor among Potter's 'friends'?_

 _Pettigrew was never known for his cleverness. As many will recall, a fourth member of the (in)famous gang of Gryffindors was the werewolf, Remus Lupin. Intelligence wasted because of his circumstances, it was widely speculated that Lupin himself was also a spy for You-Know-Who._

 _Could Lupin be the mastermind behind the Potters' betrayal? The Ministry believed so. Lupin was brought into the Ministry just days after the Potters' murder to answer questions regarding his role in the tragic series of events. But, without evidence to hold him further, the werewolf was released from custody._

 _Following these tragic events, Lupin withdrew from society completely, before his death in 1982. The reader may recall an alarming series of werewolf attacks in that year, widely attributed to Fenrir Greyback. But could this be wrong? Could the Carmichaels, Daniel and Liam, and Saul Croaker be the victims of a different monster, one clever enough to shift the blame to the obvious perpetrator?_

 _Sources within the Ministry state rumors that Lupin is being posthumously investigated in this tangled web of events. Though nothing can be confirmed, one thing holds true: since Black's exoneration in March, the mystery surrounding the Potters' betrayal and murder has gotten more complicated. And, tragically, it remains interwoven with James Potter's closest childhood friends._

"I'm going to kill Burke," Sirius managed once his voice returned. He crumbled and threw the paper far into the corner of the room.

"You can't prove he was her source."

"She's slandering Remus all over the paper! And James too by suggestion!"

"Well, all over page 5-"

"Remus never betrayed us," Sirius hissed, while the voice in his head hissed back, _You thought that he did._

"Black, he-"

" _Don't you dare finish that sentence!_ " Sirius rounded on Mad-Eye.

"You have no idea what I was going to say," Mad-Eye retorted.

"That it's possible!" Sirius snapped back. Mad-Eye was silent. "Don't think I haven't thought through why he's not here!"

"Of course you have," Mad-Eye grunted. "What have you come up with?"

"That he ran away," Sirius responded immediately. He paced the small space of floor available to him. "He doesn't know or doesn't care what's going on here. He just moved on. Or he's been a prisoner somewhere this whole time. Or… or…he's being threatened. Or controlled. Hell, he could even be obliviated and blissfully living a life far from here! Or he's just… or Ollivander was wrong and he's just dead."

Mad-Eye was quiet, observing him with both eyes. Sirius sighed and slowed to a stop.

"Say something," he said to the grizzled auror.

Mad-Eye shifted on his good leg, then said, "You should be getting more sleep."

Sirius huffed, his chest oddly heavy. "If only." It came out much more hopeless than he meant it. He could see the twitch in the scars on Mad-Eye's face that he picked up on it.

"Black-"

But then there was a tapping and the door opened.

"Moody, Black, you're needed."

"Where?" Sirius asked, glad for the distraction.

"Department of Mysteries," responded the messenger. Sirius' eyebrows rose. The messenger just shrugged, clearly unable to give much of an explanation besides, "There was an incident."

* * *

The elevator doors opened. It was not as chaotic as Sirius expected. There was a low hum of steady, serious conversation. Kingsley was discussing something solemnly with a witch wearing what looked like safety gear. A few more aurors were casting revealing spells and taking careful notes. Sirius passed them, following Mad-Eye down a long, dark corridor. The door at the end was heavy and plain, contrasting with the glossy walls where Sirius could see his reflection. A curling gold plaque above it read, "Department of Mysteries."

Gathered in the hallway was Minister Bagnold, Rufus Scrimgeour, Deirdre Savage, and two people that Sirius did not know. The first had the look of a man who spent far too long out of the sun. His hair was thin and there were thick spectacles perched on his nose, which was wrinkled, like a professor that had just been interrupted. The second was seated in a chair that hovered about ten centimeters above the ground. His legs were frail, folded like fragile bird wings against the chair. They contrasted greatly with the muscular shoulders and torso. Opposite of his pale companion, his clean-shaven face was leathery from sun exposure. His eyes were a strange, diluted green in the light, and they peered just past every person in the little gathering. Sirius noticed that his hands were clenched in his lap, knuckles white.

Sirius and Mad-Eye were acknowledged with slight nods from the other two aurors. The Minister's gaze lingered longer.

"...I would very much like to get back to my work," the pale, bespectacled man was saying in a nasally voice. "I've answered all I can."

"All that we have asked, yes, Mr. Glass," Savage said patiently. "But if you could just describe what you saw to Mr. Black, we would find that very helpful."

Mr. Glass sniffed and surveyed Sirius. He seemed unimpressed, but sighed and said, "Very well. I was in the middle of a _very_ important discussion with my colleague, Mr. Evaltas, when-"

But Sirius was already distracted. Mr. Evaltas. Remus had worked for a naturalist named Evaltas. He took a second look at the man in the chair. Evaltas seemed to be distracted by something on the floor near the Minister's shoe, so Sirius only saw his mop of curling, iron gray hair.

"-just a glimpse of the tail. But there are no rats in the Department of Mysteries, we keep the facilities well isolated from any possible… contaminants."

Sirius tuned back to Mr. Glass abruptly. "You saw a rat? What did it look like?" he demanded.

"Like I said, I only glimpsed the tail," Mr. Glass shrugged. "Evaltas may be able to say more. He was here to speak to me about my work with the unseen for his study of the demiguise," he added, puffing his chest.

Mr. Evaltas' hands clenched tighter as the attention turned to him. Sirius remembered what Dumbledore had told him about the recluse. He'd been crippled in the same accident that killed his wife and was more comfortable with the creatures he studied than people. But he drew in a breath and spoke in a rough, hurried voice.

"It was a common garden rat. Brown. Blue eyes, missing toe like the papers described. Looked thin and ill. That's what you want to know, right?"

His eyes still flickered like hummingbird wings around Sirius' face without actually focusing.

"That's Pettigrew," Sirius confirmed. He glanced at Scrimgeour, jaw tight. "How'd he get in? Wasn't there supposed to be a watch on this place?"

"Probably slipped past the guard," Scrimgeour huffed. "Convenient animagus form, a rat."

"Yeah," Sirius muttered, regretting ever helping the bastard succeed in becoming one in the first place.

"Indeed," the Minister said. "I would like to stay informed about your investigation. "

"This isn't the first incident connected with this department Minister," Mad-Eye said lowly. "Saul Croaker, Liam Carmichael, Augustus Rookwood. All of them worked here. Two are dead and one is being hunted across Europe. And now another Death Eater was spotted here."

"Those may just be isolated incidents," said Bagnold. "But increase the auror presence in the Ministry, especially down here. If the Death Eaters want something in the Department of Mysteries, they will find it quite impossible to acquire."

"It would be easier if our concerns were taken seriously," grumbled Scrimgeour. "If we could publish another PSA-"

"I don't want you spreading fear among the magical peoples of Britain," Bagnold retorted smoothly. "No matter how grave the threat, there is no need for panic."

"Not yet, no," Mad-Eye growled lowly.

"Mr. Moody, I recall that you had similar sentiments right after You-Know-Who's defeat and this is the first time we've had reason for concern in years."

"Just because he's biding his time doesn't mean we can fall asleep waiting," Mad-Eye returned. "We can't get too comfortable. Constant vigilance."

"Yes, we've heard your opinions on the matter," the Minister said in a long-suffering manner. "But not everyone buys into that level of… caution." Sirius heard "paranoia" instead of her diplomatic choice of vocabulary. He ground his teeth. "I prefer to remain optimistic that we may yet enjoy peace in the wizarding world without having to face a threat as dark and powerful-"

"Voldemort will return," Sirius interrupted in a heated voice. For an instant, Evaltas' uneven gaze snapped to him, then away. "You can't ignore what's right in front of you!"

"And what is that Mr. Black?" Bagnold inquired politely. "We've had four and a half productive years of rebuilding and ensuring that his followers are unable to rise up again. Yes, the breakout is a set-back, but to conclude that it means that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is returning is quite a large leap."

It sounded like a speech she'd rehearsed: rational, strong, unafraid. But Sirius barked a bitter, sarcastic laugh. "From what I've seen you've only succeeded in sweeping the dirt under the rug. Then again I could be mistaken. I was rotting away in Azkaban for most of that time."

The silence that followed was very solid in the vaulted hallway. The Minister's lips thinned. Mr. Glass had been following the exchange like a tennis match, but now he uncomfortably removed his spectacles for a polish on his robes. The rest were in various states of awkwardness, except Mad-Eye, who looked rather smug.

"That was most unfortunate, Mr. Black, and I have apologized for the role the Ministry played in your unjust incarceration," Minister Bagnold finally admitted. She could have ended with that and Sirius would have backed down. But then she added, "But one mistake does not prove that the Ministry is making any at this moment."

"Right," Sirius said coldly. "Well. I'd like to ask Mr. Glass a few more questions. I'm sure any business you need to finish with the Head Auror can be conducted elsewhere."

The Minister's eyes flashed, but Scrimgeour cut across any response saying, "Black will keep us apprised, Minister. I'd like to ask Kingsley if he and his aurors have detected any breach closer to the elevators."

There was a tense pause, but the Minister finally turned away and walked stiffly up the corridor. Scrimgeour and Savage followed, sending Sirius warning glances. Mad-Eye huffed and whispered, "At least you've got Scrimgeour on your side today, Black."

Sirius shrugged, feeling a rush from his reckless behavior. It felt pretty good. Mr. Glass replaced his spectacles, making his wide-eyed stare even wider.

"You said you investigate the unseen. Are we permitted to see your work-space?"

"I'm afraid not at this time, no. Auror Scrimgeour was allowed in, so you'll have to speak with him."

"Fine. What do you research specifically?"

"The art of being unnoticed," answered Glass importantly.

"So invisibility?"

"Well, I would not reduce it in such a way, no," Glass sniffed. "It's a very mysterious branch in the study of our spatial universe."

"Did you ever work with Carmichael, Croaker, or Rookwood?"

"All three, yes, but not very closely with the last two. Carmichael was a student of mine for a time when he first started working here. Very bright. Very curious about the nature of reality and perception, which is my life's work. He was a pleasure to teach."

"Did he ever ask you about applications in wandlore?"

"No he didn't," Mr. Glass answered stiffly. It was clear he was offended by the reminder of what his favorite student ultimately chose. "If you'd excuse me, I'd like to get back to my work."

"Fine. But don't leave town," Sirius added, more out of annoyance than any suspicion.

Mr. Glass squared his shoulders and nodded politely to Evaltas. "It was a pleasure speaking with you in person. Good day, Mr. Evaltas."

"Good day," murmured Evaltas, barely moving his head in Glass' direction. Glass disappeared through the solid black door into the Department of Mysteries. Sirius glimpsed a circular room filled with even more doors before the first one boomed shut behind Glass. Evaltas started to hover away in his chair.

"Wait."

The naturalist paused.

"You don't need me to stay in town, do you?" asked Evaltas stiffly.

"No I… I just wanted to ask you something."

Evaltas huffed.

"He won't keep you long," Mad-Eye promised. Evaltas rotated his chair around.

"What's your word good for?" griped Evaltas. His pale green eyes danced around Mad-Eye. "You promised you'd leave me alone."

"You came out of hiding in the first place to talk with that pompous twit," Mad-Eye retorted, gesturing to the entrance of the Department of Mysteries.

"It was vital for my research," Evaltas grumbled. "I'm regretting it every second."

"It's about Lupin."

Evaltas' eyelids twitched.

"What about him?"

"You'd have to ask Sirius, here."

"Lupin's dead," barked Evaltas in Sirius' general direction. "And I only employed him for a year. You want to know more about him, you'd be better off asking the grumpy auror. Or better yet, read the paper. They've had some things to say about him recently."

Sirius swallowed the anger that rose at the reminder.

"I knew him. Better than Mad-Eye, we were in school together," he explained sharply. He couldn't follow the maddening dance of Evaltas' eyes, so he watched the wizard's twisting hands instead. "I just had a few questions about when he was employed by you."

"Why?" asked the naturalist suspiciously. Now his eyes hovered over Sirius' shoulder.

"I… I just need to know a few details. He traveled for you?"

" _Why?_ "

"He's not dead."

Evaltas blinked fully. For a millisecond, Sirius was caught in the full weight of the naturalist's gaze before it skittered away. Then the corner of Evaltas' mouth lifted slightly. "Always heard Azkaban makes you crazy. Odd to see it in person."

The awkward avoidance of eye contact ceased so suddenly, Sirius almost took a step backwards. The naturalist scrutinized Sirius with a laser-sharp scientific stare for an unnervingly long time, then said, "Yes, he traveled for me so I wouldn't be burdened with these kinds of encounters. Mostly in Europe. He was good, thorough. Did things the way I would have done. He had a way with connecting with the creatures."

"Albus Dumbledore mentioned that there were some unusual developments."

"Did he?" asked Evaltas absently. "Old coot was always a meddler. There were curious developments. Lupin believed it was a single thing causing the creatures in these places to change their behavior. We were unable to connect the string of events to any one thing… but after Croatia… well, that's when he stopped writing. Learned he was dead from Moody a month later. Or not dead as you seem to believe."

Evaltas' bony fingers unclasped and tapped his armrests. His gaze was now fixed on the floor.

"Did he seem bothered by anything that happened in Croatia?" Sirius asked cautiously, wondering how much Remus had revealed to his employer.

"Not in his last letters," replied Evaltas. "Never actually met the man in person. Prefer to be left alone." He sent a pointed glare in Mad-Eye's direction. The auror glared pointedly back.

"Little human contact is good for you every few years," grunted Mad-Eye.

"What makes you think that Lupin is not dead?" asked Evaltas suddenly, the rhythm of his tapping increasing.

"I have evidence," Sirius answered. He did not give any more information than that.

Evaltas frowned, his eyes squinting with dissatisfaction as his fingers skittered in place like spiders. Then he muttered, "Dangerous to rely on the dead to cure your desolation. Better to rely on the living or nothing at all." Sirius found this a little ironic coming from a recluse. Evaltas' fingers stilled. "I have nothing more to say. You will not find the answers you need with me. He was my field researcher, nothing more. For all I know, the Skeeter woman was right about him."

"She wasn't," Sirius replied instinctively.

Evaltas did not respond. The hovering chair spun away and he started down the hallway towards the elevators.

"If you hear anything, you'll let us know!" Mad-Eye called after him. Evaltas gave no sign that he heard. When he was gone, Mad-Eye muttered under his breath, "We won't be hearing from him."

Sirius privately agreed, feeling like the only other person Remus could possibly have contacted had just alienated them. Besides himself, Mad-Eye, and possibly Dumbledore, there was no one else. A wave of tiredness threatened to engulf him and he squeezed his eyes shut. After massaging his brown bone, he opened his eyes to see Scrimgeour was returning. The silhouette of his wild man against the lights made him look like his head was on fire.

"Kingsley hasn't found any clues as to how Pettigrew got in unseen," he reported. Then misinterpreting their dour looks, he added, "I take it Glass was not very helpful."

"No," Mad-Eye answered. "Invisibility, huh?"

"In what they call the Space Chamber. Something about a 'noble quest for the limitations of our spatial universe' or whatever he says he does."

"Yeah we heard a little about that," Mad-Eye grunted. "Anything in there that the Death Eaters would want?"

"Could have been anything, there's all kinds of dangerous magic in that Department. And honestly, it may not even be that room that they care about," Scrimgeour said wearily. "Pettigrew could have come from anywhere. It's a labyrinth in there, everything's connected to everything else. Revolving rooms and that nonsense."

"Damn it," Sirius murmured. Scrimgeour glanced at him with tawny eyes.

"You okay, Black?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, I just want this bloody day to be over."

Scrimgeour sniffed. "Will be soon."

Surprised, Sirius glanced at his watch. Was it really already 9:30? Scrimgeour followed Sirius' movements and sighed. "Go home, Black," he instructed firmly. "You've been here every day since the break-out. You need to rest. Take tomorrow off, be with your godson."

For once, Sirius did not argue. His chest was feeling even heavier now. "Yes, sir."

He started down the dark hallway. He didn't even hear the clunking of Mad-Eye's leg until he was right beside him.

"Black. I never finished what I was going to say earlier."

"What was that?"

"That we'll find out the truth. Whatever it is."

"That's uncharacteristically optimistic of you," Sirius muttered.

"Call it a well-honed instinct. Goodnight, Black."

"Goodnight, Mad-Eye."

* * *

He went to the Burrow first. There was something comforting about the windows filled with light against the starry sky. Molly let him in and forced him to eat whatever was leftover from dinner.

"He fell asleep in the sitting room," Arthur said softly, when he saw Sirius glancing around between mouthfuls.

Sirius followed Arthur to the living room as soon as he'd eaten enough to satisfy Molly. Harry was on the couch, curled into one of the arms, a hand-sewn quilt covering him. In the warm light of the embers in the fireplace, he looked so much like his father, asleep in the Gryffindor common room or in the Potter home. Sirius felt a wave of… insufficiency. God, every particle of him felt the absence of James. His knees nearly buckled with the sudden onslaught of grief. If Arthur noticed he did not give any sign, besides a slight movement of his hand, like he'd thought of putting it on his shoulder. Sirius swallowed hard.

"Thank you for taking care of him," he said hoarsely.

"They say it takes a village," Arthur replied lightly. Then more serious, "You had a difficult day today."

It was not phrased like a question, so Sirius did not feel the need to answer. Or acknowledge at all really. The magic of Arthur Weasley was just humble, stable presence.

"You saw the article?" Sirius asked him.

"I don't believe a word of it. Except whatever it said about Pettigrew being pitiful scum."

Sirius smiled weakly. They stood together, watching Harry sleep until words were suddenly on Sirius' tongue.

"I worry that he won't understand why."

"Why it's just you?"

"There are the obvious reasons. His parents died, and one day he'll know why they did." Sirius realized as he said this that even Arthur did not know the whole truth. He'd never asked for it, but Sirius would tell him in a heartbeat if he did. "But then… there are the harder things. Why Peter was their Secret Keeper instead of me. Why he betrayed them and murdered twelve people, because-hell-I still don't-" He stopped. Then said softer, "Why I went to Azkaban for it. Why Remus is gone."

Again, the myriad of possible reasons threatened to smother him.

"Time," Arthur said simply. "And the truth is, those things happened because of a man who did some very evil things."

"Voldemort didn't force me to make any of the choices I regret," Sirius argued back bitterly.

"No." Arthur paused. "But at least you regret them."

Sirius snorted softly. "McGonagall said that to me once," he murmured. "Long, long time ago."

"Foolish the man who ignores that woman," Arthur quipped.

Sirius nodded in agreement. Tiredness itched at his eyes, so he crossed the room to Harry. Cautiously, he slid his arms underneath his small body. Harry sighed softly, waking just enough to wrap his arms around Sirius' neck and let his head fall on his shoulder. Sirius tried to negotiate the tangled quilt off Harry.

"Keep it," Arthur insisted in an undertone. "It's one of his favorites anyway."

"Thank you."

Making it through the floo was tricky, but Sirius managed it. Their cottage was quiet, but warm and smelling of summer air from a window he'd left cracked. He lowered Harry sound asleep into his bed. There was barely a change in his breathing, except to snort and turn over. Sirius grinned and gently tucked the quilt snugly around him. As he did, he noticed the first time the pattern of pale, trumpeted flowers artfully worked into a mosaic of deep reds and blues. Lilies.

His melancholy returned. As he shut the door to Harry's room, he glanced in the direction of his own, but his feet took him into the kitchen. Remus' file was still in the drawer where he'd stowed it. He had not taken it out as much anymore. He'd gleaned as much as he could from it anyway. But for some reason, maybe because of the article, maybe because of Pettigrew, tonight he was drawn to it. Almost magnetically so.

He placed it gently on the kitchen table and lit the overhead light. The file was well-worn now, soft around the edges. On his heart was the boy he met that first year of Hogwarts. Who was also well-worn for an eleven-year-old, but soft around the edges. Blurred by a mystery. But kind.

Was he still kind?

Sirius pulled out the note. _Seil setiryp. Verum argentum._

Remus may not be the same person Sirius had left behind years ago. He threw the note down and ran his hands over his face and through his lengthening hair. Something welled in his throat, numbed his skin and lungs. Despair? Sirius tried to fight it away.

 _He's alive. Hold onto that._

He lifted the note one more time, hand over his mouth. In the dark window, his reflection drew his attention. How many times had he looked at himself since Azkaban? He blinked and for a second he was still the emaciated stranger in the bathroom mirror that first day. The prisoner. The gloom of the night beyond the glass made his skin grayish and unhealthy.

 _I'm innocent._

Then he was Sirius again. Older. Exhausted. Scarred and marked. The Sirius who barely slept, who refused to accept that he was lost and alone, who only wanted to protect the one thing he had not yet destroyed. (He wondered if he was truly innocent).

The fading starburst and rune tattoo on his forearm caught his eye, reversed by the reflection. He frowned and twisted his arm to get a better look at the fading ink.

Maybe he and the prisoner were still one and the same. Still trapped. The window was simply doing what it was supposed to do. Reflect reality as it was. Like a pool of water. Or a wand. His gaze flickered to the smudge of cream on the glass that was the note. The words focused. The first part was even clearer now, reversed like his tattoos.

 _Pyrites lies._

 _Verum argentum._

 _The truth is silver._

Sirius froze.

He met his own shadowed eyes in the window. The truth stared back.

* * *

 **A/N: Sirius figured it out! _Did you?_ Thanks for reading! If you can spare a moment, let me know your thoughts. **


	19. Smoke, Mirrors

**Um... hi there. So I definitely did not mean for time to pass that quickly...and after a cliff-hanger too, what is wrong with me?! But life happens.**

 **You guys are my heroes. Seriously, if it weren't for you I would not be finding time to write/edit this story. I'm sorry I don't usually respond to you, that scarce time tends to go to writing. And don't worry, I really do have it all worked out in my head, it's just getting it down that is the struggle.**

 ** _Some quick, directed shout-outs:_ To the guest-reviewers, ****I appreciate all who have taken the time to tell me what you think. I love hearing from you!**

 **To FriendlyNeighborhoodHPFan, who reviewed this like...2 hrs before I posted. I had this chapter completed and your review spurred me into doing a final revision and actually publishing it. Thank you!**

 **Also, huge shout out to LilyTigerValley! Pay attention to this chapter, because you figured out a few things that are explained here.**

 **I am so excited to present some answers to the rest of the readers! And I apologize in advance for the level of angst in this chapter. I wanted to fit in some Harry fluff, but it got moved to the next chapter...**

 **-Cat**

* * *

Chapter 19

Smoke/Mirrors

 _December 21, 1982_

For a man who felt like he was being chased by shadows, Remus was oddly calm. And not the hazy, safe type of calm. Something colder. But it was familiar. He'd only felt it twice before, both times when he'd thought he was about to die, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He wondered if James felt this way when he saw the Dark Lord at the front gate.

If Peter felt it as he faced a man they'd called brother.

He checked his watch and saw that it read one minute past midnight. He'd left Carmichael confused and agitated. He paced in his flat, struggling to control the thoughts that were zooming through his head, unable to coalesce into a single thing.

Except for a strand of logic twisting itself through it all.

Voldemort was alive. Harry must be kept safe at all costs. And if Pyrites was a servant of the Dark Lord… if he was behind these attacks and disappearances… if he was searching for Voldemort…

Then Remus had to do _something._

Simun's warning words pounded through his head. That it was not up to Remus to pursue Voldemort. _"You are not strong enough to face him,"_ the centaur had foretold in his deep voice. _"Try and he would consume you. This darkness cannot be tested alone."_

But Remus couldn't drag Mad-Eye or Dumbledore into this. They still had a role to play in the world, didn't they? But Remus only had Harry. His singular, most precious purpose. Everyone else... well.

"I _am_ alone," Remus told his apartment. "I'll have to be enough." The emptiness of the room, the dead, the traitor... they sparked in Remus' blood.

Out of habit, Remus checked the moon. It was a thick crescent, nearly a semicircle of white on black. Then, decision made in the space of a heartbeat, he got out parchment and ink. His battered quill needed to be trimmed, which he did with steady hands. He dipped it and managed to scratch a salutation, when the hair on the back of his neck stood up and he paused.

 _Creak._

Remus spun, drawing his wand in one fluid motion. His door was ajar, the lock undone. In the frame was a shadow.

Remus met him with a quiet, "You're here much faster than I expected."

Then light exploded through the apartment.

* * *

 _August 19, 1981_

Light glowed in the dusty window. Sirius slowed his impatient strides and checked his watch. 3:14 a.m. He had not expected Remus to be awake. To be honest, he had not expected Remus _at all_. His flatmate was never home these days. He swallowed down something that tasted like broken trust and fumbled for his keys.

He unlatched the door quietly. Remus was not in the small kitchen/living room that made up most of the flat, neither was he in the dark hallway. Which meant he was either in his bedroom or in the bathroom. Sirius set his things on the floor and hung up his cloak, listening for signs that the werewolf was awake. At first there was nothing, then a rustling from the bathroom, the sound of something shattering, followed by a soft, "Fuck."

Sirius hurried to the bathroom, his eyebrows slightly raised at the rare profanity. There was a line of gold shining from the crack beneath the door. When Sirius threw the door open, the light flooded into the hallway, revealing splotches of blood on the carpet trailing to the werewolf.

He held one hand up in the air. His right forearm was dripping crimson sluggishly. On his cheekbone was a shadow of a bruise. Any bitter thoughts that Sirius had been harboring buried themselves.

"Jesus, Rem. Here, let me help…"

Sirius vanished the shattered glass that sat in a puddle of sickly yellow murtlap essence. Then he conjured a bowl and siphoned the thick liquid into it. There was a blood soaked cloth in the sink, so Sirius grabbed a clean one from a drawer, soaked it in murtlap, and gestured for Remus to sit on the toilet.

Remus did so mutely, head down, fawn fringe shadowing his face. Sirius seated himself on the edge of the porcelain tub and gently pulled Remus' arm towards him. The blood dripped away from two diagonal, jagged slashes that were several inches long. Sirius frowned at them, then covered it with the murtlap-soaked washcloth and applied some pressure. The only sign that it hurt was a swift intake of breath through Remus' nose.

They sat that way without speaking, Sirius' thoughts racing, Remus tense and unreadable. Sirius attempted a few basic healing spells, but the cuts remained stubbornly open. So he cleaned and re-soaked the cloth twice until the bleeding finally stopped and the skin around the edges of the cuts was less angry red and more pink.

"You going to tell me what happened?" Sirius finally asked, searching the face under the fringe. When Remus did not respond, he decided to cut off the obvious excuse. "This isn't from the moon last week. It's too fresh. Besides, I would have noticed."

Still no answer.

Sirius decided on a more direct approach. "You didn't do this, did you?"

Remus snorted. "No," he muttered. "That urge only comes on about once every twenty-eight days."

Sirius was glad to hear some kind of humor in his voice, even if was dark. "So neither of your charming personalities. Who am I going to have to hunt down and murder, then?"

"Padfoot," Remus sighed, humor gone. Guarded.

"Moony."

Pause.

"I…" Hesitation that Sirius hated himself for noticing. Was he about to lie again? "I got fired."

"And your boss did this to you?!" Suspicion was replaced by fury in an instant.

"He was rather enthusiastic."

"That-" he called the man something that made Remus say, " _Sirius!"_ "-is going to wish he'd never been born when I get my hands on him!"

"No, Sirius, because you're going to leave him alone."

"Like hell I am!" Rage was making his vision swim, turning the bathroom tile into a blob of whites and reds and pinks.

"Yes, you are." Remus stood abruptly, his voice rising. "I can fight my own battles, Padfoot." He stormed out into the kitchen. Startled, Sirius nearly fell backwards into the tub, but he quickly gathered himself and jogged after his friend. Remus was already fumbling with the kettle, struggling to get the top off to fill it with water. He managed it, but blood was beading at the edges of the cuts when he finally slammed the kettle down onto the stove. Then he rested his hands on either side of the heating element and lowered his head over the warmth, breathing loudly.

"Remus…" Sirius said quietly. He swallowed down his anger, shocked by the unusual show of temper from the werewolf. "We can't just… let it go. There has to be something-"

"We aren't in school anymore, Sirius," Remus snapped. The muscles in his back were rigid, jerking with his ragged exhales. "Pranks and petty revenge aren't going to fix what's wrong with m-with society."

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"There's nothing wrong with you."

"I didn't say… I didn't mean that."

"You did," Sirius accused softly. "Could you… turn around or something? I don't like having this conversation with the back of your head."

He waited, somewhat impatiently, watching the breath moving Remus' shoulders and relaxing them. The muscles loosened, then Remus slowly pulled himself back together and turned to face Sirius. The shadow of the bruise on his jaw was deepening. He shook his hair out of his eyes and looked just over Sirius' head. The dim lights of the kitchen touched the brown irises with just a hint of amber.

"I can't have the kind of life you want for me, Padfoot."

"I know," Sirius said after a moment. _And it scares the hell out of me,_ Sirius added silently. _Because what's left? What will you turn to if you lose all hope?_ Remus slowly met his eyes, his own slightly widened at Sirius' apparent acceptance. "I _hate_ it, but I know. Merlin, I-we _all_ would give anything for that to be wrong. James, Peter, Lily. And Harry loves his Uncle Moomy. I still resent you for being his first word, by the way."

Remus' lips twitched. But then he was solemn again. "This is the way it is. You can't change it."

"Yeah," Sirius sighed. "But… You're much more than this, Moony."

"In your eyes."

"No one else should matter. You are _more_ that what they think, Remus."

"Thank you," Remus whispered hoarsely. But he held something back, Sirius saw it in the fragile way his fingers trailed down to the reopened wound on his arm. In the distant stare. Sirius swiftly retrieved the murtlap compress and returned. Remus did not move, but watched him cautiously as he reapplied the washcloth. Sirius chewed his lip, puzzling over the scrutiny, feeling the tense muscles beneath cold skin.

"You know we'll never leave you, right?"

Silence.

"Well… we won't." It was getting difficult to speak. "You remember what we vowed second year? 'We solemnly swear that we will be bound as brothers until the end.' That… that meant something, Rem. No one else matters, because we'll be right here. And… and if you're far away or… or get lost… we will still be brothers. And you'll be found. _Always,_ " he finished fiercely.

Sirius heard Remus' throat click as he swallowed. "I guess I'm stuck with you, then," he rasped.

"Through thick and thin."

Trite. Banal. Vulnerable and yet still too much left unsaid.

Sirius prayed it was enough. Because for some reason, he felt like whatever bond they used to share was going up in smoke.

Two days later he discovered that Remus had not had a job in over a month. That maybe... maybe his brother had become nothing more than a liar.

* * *

 _June 15, 1986_

" _I can't have the kind of life you want for me, Padfoot."_

" _I know."_

…

" _And… if you're far away or… or get lost… we will still be brothers. And you'll be found. Always."_

Sirius only had a hazy memory of getting here.

He had called Mad-Eye first. He had no idea what time it was, but it was definitely late. But he also had a theory that Mad-Eye did not sleep out of pure spite for those who gave into such a lack of vigilance.

He vaguely recalled Arthur Weasley stumbling through the floo half-awake. He must have called Arthur as well, then. For Harry.

Then he skipped some time...

And now he was here, standing before his own reflection and questioning his sanity. But no. He was certain that he was right. Sirius' gut almost never lied to him. Almost.

When he spoke he did not sound like himself.

"What is it?"

"It's the bleeding middle of the goddamned night, what the hell do you care?!"

"Answer the question," snapped Mad-Eye, shaking Mr. Borgin by the collar of his nightshirt. "What is it?"

"It's a bloody mirror! Have you both gone starkers?"

To the left of Sirius' haggard reflection he could see Borgin's wide, panicked eyes.

It wasn't just a mirror. Sirius placed his hand flat against the cool silver surface. Just to his right and deep within the image, a shadow shifted, distorted by the spots where the glass was chipped and the silver tarnished. Sirius snatched his hand away and moved closer. The imprint of his palm was still there, outlined in vapor until it faded from view. There was nothing left except Sirius, his face still gaunt and pale, his hair longer and wilder.

"What is it, Sirius?"

It was Mad-Eye this time, asking in a softer tone than he used with Borgin.

"Verum argentum," Sirius murmured. Mad-Eye became very still. "The truth is silver." He could not find a way to put the rest into words. Strands of things and little innocuous paths that seemed to be converging on this plane of silver in Borgin and Burke's. An object he'd barely noticed on his past trips here. Maybe he really was crazy. The logic that had gotten him here was flimsy at best. He ran a finger along the bottom of the dusted frame, stopping on a small brass plaque with elegant lettering.

"The Mirror of Iunne," Sirius read out loud. He turned to Borgin. "What does it show?"

"N-nothing," stammered Borgin, his face bloodless. "It doesn't show anything. It's just a... just a..." He trailed away weakly. His eyes were flitting around the shop madly, as if he were afraid he would be overheard by some unseen entity. He whispered, "Just a mirror."

"What do you mean, what does it show?" Mad-Eye questioned sharply.

"Magic mirrors show things," Sirius tried to explain. His thoughts were tumbling against each other madly, like ducks in a storm. "The foe glass shows your enemies. The Mirror of Erised in Hogwarts shows your greatest desire. Like...a reflection of what's real, but... changed or... or shifted or... stuck in one place."

He was abruptly taken back to his conversation with Mr. Ollivander about Remus' wand. He swallowed. He had to be right. Too many things were connecting to each other, filling in the blanks.

"Well?" Mad-Eye rounded on Borgin again, who cowered back as far as Mad-Eye's grip on his scruff would allow. Borgin looked utterly horrified, his eyes rolling and his breath coming in gasps. The contrast with the composed and irritable shop owner was alarming. But Sirius did not care at the moment.

"Either you tell us now or we drag you in for questioning in a very public fashion," Sirius threatened. "And I promise that everyone will know that you spilled secrets to the aurors whether you did so or not."

"You couldn't-you can't lie about an investigation," gasped Borgin.

"Watch me," hissed Sirius. He was so close. "Do you trust your little Death Eater buddies to hold back long enough to check?"

Borgin turned his entreating stare to Mad-Eye, but the grizzled auror's countenance was hard as stone.

"Okay," sobbed Borgin. "Okay...but promise-promise you won't tell-"

He stopped, nearly hyperventilating.

"What does it show?" Sirius bit out, like he was puncturing each word into Borgin's trembling skull.

"It doesn't... it doesn't show anything," repeated Borgin breathlessly. Sirius was ready to punch his misshapen nose, but Borgin inhaled shakily and continued. "It's a gateway."

The pause following Borgin's pronouncement was stunned.

"A… what?" Sirius repeated stupidly. His brain disconnected from his mouth. And his intestines felt like there were trying to escape. Then, quite suddenly, it felt like he had no brain or intestines at all.

Borgin just stared at him with eyes wide as galleons.

 _It's a gateway._

His lungs were certainly working, because his breath was coming far too fast.

"To where?" he demanded weakly.

"A… reflected world," Borgin answered after a shake from Mad-Eye. "It's… not quite real and not as big, just a… an impression of the immediate surroundings."

"Why? For what purpose?"

"Escape," whispered Borgin. His eyes were nearly bugging out of his head.

Sirius did not quite understand.

"How does it work?"

"I-I can't-I don't know."

"Liar!" The word exploded out of Sirius.

"I'm not...I can't…I _can't,_ " gasped Borgin, like a dying fish. Mad-Eye was still holding on to Borgin's scruff, but the other palm was facing Sirius, gesturing _Hold on a second._

"What do you mean, _you can't?_ " snarled Mad-Eye.

"I mean I bleeding _can't!_ " shouted Borgin, waving his hands back and forth. Particularly his right hand. Mad-Eye's face grew taut and he snatched Borgin's forearm to hold it steady. A few seconds of examination later, Mad-Eye swore.

"Fucker made an Unbreakable Vow," he spat in disgust.

"What?!" demanded Sirius, inspecting Borgin's right hand. It was barely there, a delicate sliver of a scar twining through the flesh. Anyone could mistake it for the mark of a craftsman or a collector of dangerous objects. But this was unbroken, a single thread.

"Screw it," Mad-Eye muttered under his breath. "This is getting too big for us to handle under the radar. I'm taking him in." Then, louder, "Mr. Borgin, I'm placing you under arrest for conspiring with a suspected Death Eater. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence."

With a twirl of his wand, chains wended around Borgin's wrists as the man gave an undignified squawk.

"Don't move, Black. I'll be back in ten minutes." Without another word, Mad-Eye dragged the cuffed and protesting Borgin out the front door into the alley. He could hear Borgin's muffled arguments, the rumble of Mad-Eye's snarky retorts, then a _SNAP_ and no more.

Silence fell over the shop. Sirius shuddered. It was all beginning to make sense, everything going back to the invisible fourth Death Eater present when Mad-Eye killed Rosier here, in this very shop. The comings and goings of Greyback and Abalendu that couldn't be traced by the Floo Network Authority. An incident on Halloween night last year…

Sirius swallowed hard. He was _so close_. He balled his hands into tight fists, willing himself not to punch the flat glass that stood between him and _answers_. So he paced instead. Anxiety clawed at his skin at every turn, but he let it, terrified of it turning into false elation. What if Remus was there right now, watching, waiting?

What if he wasn't?

He swung back to the mirror and stared hard. If only he could just see past the glass…

 _CRACK!_

Instinct spun him violently towards the sound, drawing his wand.

"Easy Sirius," said a calm, measured voice. "It's just me. Alastor called."

"Dumbledore-Albus… I wasn't expecting you," Sirius breathed out, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"Yes, well. This has been a night filled with many unexpected events," Dumbledore mused with a faint smile. Those crystalline blue eyes pierced through Sirius, then went to the mirror mounted behind him. "How curious…the Mirror of Iunne was here all along."

"You… you knew about it?"

"I'd heard stories. After all, its twin resides in the halls of Hogwarts."

Shocked, Sirius blinked, looking between the mirror and Dumbledore. "The Mirror of Erised. That mirror?"

"The very same," Dumbledore confirmed, stepping up to the glass and stroking his long beard. He leaned forward until his crooked nose was almost a centimeter away from the surface. "I seem to recall warning you about the dangers of that mirror recently."

"Yes. You did."

"It is, indeed, quite dangerous." Dumbledore straightened and adjusted his glasses. "Desire can drive a person mad. It does not do to dwell on impossible dreams and forget to live. But it is equally dangerous to forget your dreams, your desires, your deepest loves… and merely survive, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, I suppose," Sirius said slowly, uncertain where Dumbledore was going and frankly frustrated by the riddles. The little bell jingled and Mad-Eye returned without his charge. His scowl was much deeper as he stomped over to Sirius and Dumbledore. Dumbledore gave him a slight nod of acknowledgement before speaking again.

"The Mirror of Iunne is the opposite of the Mirror of Erised. Erised traps you in your deepest desires. Iunne is an escape from them. It is meant to quench any yearnings of the heart, to cut oneself off from the world that causes such pain. When they are absent in the Mirror, these things fade away and become less. But the consequences of doing this... you lose a part of who you are when you are in such a place."

For reasons Sirius didn't entirely understand, he looked away from Dumbledore's penetrating gaze. The motion must have caught the old wizard's attention.

"Sirius?" he prodded gently.

"Why would anyone want that?" Sirius asked faintly (he hated that he already knew the answer).

Dumbledore inhaled slowly, the spark in his eyes dimming. "I think you would understand the purpose of this mirror's creation more intimately than most, Sirius," he explained delicately. "That to desire something… to love others deeply and fully, and then to have it ripped away? That can be as agonizing as the strongest cruciatus curse. The Mirror of Iunne can be seen as a cure to this suffering."

"What would happen to someone who used it often? Or… or never left?"

"I… couldn't quite say," Dumbledore responded.

" _Don't_ -" Sirius' voice cracked with the suddenness of his fury (and desperation). "Don't avoid the question," he hissed.

"I'm not avoiding it," said Dumbledore, without a hint of reproach. "But I need time to contemplate the answer. The human mind is complex and I think what happens to someone inside depends on that person."

Unsatisfied, but unable to say anymore, Sirius gave a jerky nod. Right. He'd deal with that later then.

"So," growled Mad-Eye for the first time since his return. "How does it work?"

"The Mirror of Iunne will admit anyone," Dumbledore revealed. "For everyone experiences some level of the pain that comes with love. But-" Dumbledore grimaced, and it appeared to be an expression of self-recrimination- "You have to _want_ it. To consciously want it. Ironic, isn't it? To escape that desperate yearning, you must yearn for escape."

Sirius understood Dumbledore's odd expression now. He was capable of that. Of wanting out. God, he was capable of that.

Dumbledore's eyes suddenly softened as he watched Sirius. "It is okay," he murmured quietly. "To escape. But only for a little while. We are tethered to the earth, and I find that it is a beautiful place to return to, with all of its shadows and light."

Mad-Eye looked at Sirius more solemnly than Sirius had ever seen. "Can you do this, Black?"

The question was weighed down with unspoken words.

"What if he isn't there?" Sirius whispered back. A possibility that had been growing in his mind since he looked at his reflection in the dark window.

"If he isn't, then we can thank Merlin," Mad-Eye replied bluntly. "Then follow his trail to the next clue."

Sirius nodded, finding himself incapable of speech.

"We'll leave you."

The door closed behind Mad-Eye and Dumbledore, leaving only the ghostly echo of the bell deep in the shop. Then mirror beckoned him, drawing his attention away from anything else.

He faced his reflection once more. Once upon a time he'd been a vain man. If only his past self could see him now. Wearily, he took in the evidence that he'd gone another night without sleep. He'd been ignoring that problem, as was the usual. He was at the point of exhaustion where James would have probably stupefied him instead of resorting to reason.

Sirius took a breath and glanced around the empty shop. He'd spent the last few months resolutely fighting the side of him that wanted _out_ (mostly for Harry's sake). After so long gritting his teeth and barring the door, it felt… unnatural to step aside.

"Get it together, Padfoot," he whispered to himself.

Then he looked back to the mirror and discovered just how easy it was to let go. His heart skipped a few beats as if he'd stepped off a cliff. But now that he was falling he was so desperate for that escape it was almost euphoric.

He blinked. Something shifted and he knew it had worked. He was still staring at his reflection, heart fluttering. He'd left the real world behind. He tried not to think about how dangerous that could be and focused on Remus.

The mirror-world was a soundless void imitating real life. So this is how it felt to be utterly alone. Only he was capable of speech, of footsteps, of disturbing air molecules and sending them undulating through the air. If a tree falls in the forest with no one around to hear, does it make a sound?

If a man is living and no one notices him, is he truly alive?

And if he can escape the world and all its darkness, is he truly living?

Sirius felt like he was in a dream, crossing through the reflection of Borgin and Burkes. It was exactly the same, and it wasn't. The lobby was empty, the floorboards clean the dust that clung to every surface but the mirror. Moonlight filtered through windows. It was so quiet, that Sirius almost could imagine that those pale beams were singing, clear-noted and crystalline.

Trance-like Sirius ignored the stacks of parchment and books on the counter, evidence of a festering presence. His attention was dragged irresistibly to a door that had been left ajar. The cellars.

The steps creaked and shadows fell as he slowly descended. The moonlight would not penetrate down below. He reached the bottom in the darkness. After several moments, he lit his wand and looked around.

It was just a room.

Just a room.

But it felt like prison. Minus dementors for company.

The room was physically clean. But the damage lay in the walls. The scratches and scars that seemed to quiver in the wandlight. Sirius let his hand hover over one deep wound without touching. He recognized these marks. Knew them far too well.

Sirius wondered how long it had been since this place had held an occupant.

Because Remus… Remus was not here.

He tried-really he tried-not to let that affect him. But it all became too much and quite suddenly he was no longer the human being that felt far too much but Padfoot. It was like a double escape and Padfoot sneezed at the irony. Padfoot's simplicity was perfect for allowing complicated emotions to fall aside. But his senses…

Padfoot was enveloped in it. The odor of suffering hit him like a wall of sweat and blood. Padfoot sneezed again. There were layers and layers, a line of different people, but one stronger than the rest and achingly familiar. Padfoot did not spend too much time contemplating the familiarity of the smell of his friends' blood. Because underneath it all, the lighter things still lingered.

The aroma of fresh earth after rain, of old books and candle wicks, and the faintest whiff of chocolate and bergamot.

Remus was not here, but he had been. He had been for a long time.

Padfoot stood in place, canine heart squeezing tightly. This place made his fur prickle. He surveyed the number of gouges in the walls and whined mournfully.

When he padded softly back up the stairs, the hair along his spine rose for a different reason.

Canine senses sharpened, he emerged into the Death Eater hideaway, a rumble in his throat. The scent that had been haunting him for months filled his nostrils. The dry, wintry smell of parchment and ink wafted from the counter. Clean silk lingered on the air with the singing moonbeams. And distantly, he detected the ashy fireplace from under the mirror and the metallic blood from the cellars.

Abruptly, he was Sirius again, cursing under his breath. That bastard knew where he lived. Where Harry was this whole time. How much time had this Death Eater (Pyrites, Sirius was certain) spent in this imitation of life? Sirius imagined the man's deadened stare and shuddered. Jaw tight, he strode to the notes and the books on the counter. There were maps of Europe, lists of names Sirius didn't recognize, tomes written in Latin, Greek, Arabic, the collection was endless. And lying innocently on the desk, partially hidden by a blueprint of some kind, was a pair of snow-white silken gloves.

With jerky, frustrated movements, he swept the papers into a rough pile and grabbed a few books at random. The gloves went on top of the mess. They could come back for the rest later. For now… Sirius needed out. This place was _suffocating_. Arms full he spun towards the mirror.

With a spike of anxiety, Sirius realized that Dumbledore had never told him _how_ to get back _._

"Shit," he muttered. "That creaky old bastard…"

He turned to his white face in the mirror, detached panic rising. He'd have to do it himself, then. The theory should be the same, just reversed now. He glared at himself and thought fiercely, _I want to go back._

Nothing.

 _I want to go back!_

He blinked deliberately this time, just in case. Still nothing. Suddenly the serene silence was suffocating. Was it silent? Was that… were those rattling inhales he heard outside?

His heart rate skyrocketed, but when he checked the windows he saw only the empty alleyway. _Focus, Padfoot._ There were no dementors here. Only the remnants of a madman. He felt a flash of blind terror at the memory the scent, he'd been so close to them… to _Harry._

Like water rising up to meet him, the surface of the mirror rushed towards him. Sirius flinched and stumbled backwards, landing on his rear and scattering his armful of evidence on the floor. There was a grunt of shock, then Mad-Eye's grizzled paws were helping him to his feet and dusting him off.

"Bloody hell, Black, you're white as a ghost," he stated.

"He's not there," Sirius whispered.

"What is all this crap?" Mad-Eye grumbled, gesturing to the books and parchment.

"He's not there," Sirius repeated, his voice rising.

"Good," Mad-Eye said, matching Sirius' tone.

But it _wasn't_ good. Sirius pushed Mad-Eye's hands away. He tried to cover his sudden need for oxygen by gathering his haphazard collection back together. Mad-Eye and Dumbledore watched in silence.

"Pyrites is researching something," Sirius spit out, slamming the papers and books onto an open shelf. "Probably to do with Voldemort. That son of a bitch has been free for _five years_ doing this! And he kept Remus in that cellar like an animal for Merlin knows how long! _God!_ "

" _You know we'll never leave you, right?"_

Sirius straightened and paced away, struggling to get his emotions under control.

"We need to talk to Scrimgeour," Mad-Eye grunted, bluntly ignoring Sirius' rant. "Now. It can't wait, especially since I've just arrested a man based on things we've been keeping secret from the Head Auror himself. These papers, the gloves, they're circumstantial, but incriminating enough. Albus, you can take the literature for now, I don't want it getting into the wrong hands."

"Sirius," Dumbledore spoke softly, his gaze burning into Sirius' back. Mad-Eye paused and gave Sirius a pointed glare. Sirius couldn't answer either of them. The mangled cellar walls were burned into his retinas.

" _And… if you're far away or… or get lost… we will still be brothers. And you'll be found. Always."_

That moment… that had been the last time Sirius Black and Remus Lupin had spoken openly as brothers. Then the suspicions broke them apart. And Sirius couldn't even keep that last promise.

"Fine. We go to Scrimgeour." The words grated harshly out of his tight throat. Then, with a roar of rage, his fist flew into the nearest glass display case, shattering the pane into millions of glittering pieces.

* * *

 **A/n: So I added some Sirius and Remus mid-war because I just needed that interaction to actually be told. It's been in my head and I've been referencing it throughout the story, so now you have it. Plus I'm getting tired of them being separated...**

 **Thank you for sticking with me this long only to have your hopes dashed once again. If anything is still confusing, I hope to clear things up as the story progresses (especially with regards to the mirror). Please review and let me know your thoughts/comments/grammar/sp/(gentle)criticisms ;)**


	20. Sleeper, Watcher

**Again, I am so amazed by the response that I have received for this story. I never could have predicted how much people have enjoyed reading this. Thank you again for your patience!**

 **-Cat**

* * *

Chapter 20

Sleeper/Watcher

 _December 25, 1982_

In the foe glass, blurred shadows coiled.

Each was indistinguishable from the next, all looming like the invisible threats in Alastor's mind. And he was unable to see who. Even with his magical eye that roved over his living space, surveying in snapshots of time that captured everything. The dirty snow slicking the sidewalks, the neighbors arguing in their living room next door, the teenagers lighting up in the back alley. The other eye remained fixed on the letter in his hand.

 _Dear Alastor Moody,_

 _Since the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, you have been an invaluable asset in tracking down and catching the Death Eaters. Your service to the wizarding world is both trying and often thankless. I do not wish any auror to go without knowing my gratitude. You especially deserve the thanks of the Minister._

 _In recognition of your deeds of service, I would like to graciously extend to you the honor of receiving the following award: Order of Merlin, First Class. As you are well aware, this award honors witches and wizards for their acts of outstanding bravery and service to the wizarding world. To list your achievements that merit this award would take up more parchment than this single letter. I only lament that it has taken this long to offer the award to you, one year since the defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._

 _It would please me to present this award to you personally, and I hope that you will accept._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Millicent Bagnold, Minister of Magic_

It was utter bullshit.

Alastor had already responded and declined the award. Because he knew better. He had worked hard, but it was not yet _enough_. And even when it was enough, the last thing he wanted was a pompous ceremony and a trophy. He glared at the words implying that they could rest. That the Dark Lord was dead.

He crumbled the letter in his gnarled fist. The other hand clutched a crystal glass of bourbon, poured from the expensive bottle that the Minister had sent with the letter. The bright golden bow was now lying discarded on the floor. With a bitter toast to the foe glass, he downed another gulp.

 _Happy Christmas, motherfuckers. To another year of hunting you down._

He saw the second owl approaching long before it arrived. It's wings flapped frantically, giving it an extra kick towards the house. A nervous feeling tingled along the lining of Alastor's intestines. When the note was shoved through the mail slot, he was ready for it.

It was torn from a journal or memo book. The note was brief, written in a hand that seemed to be accustomed to shorthand and struggling to be legible for the reader.

 _Moody, Remus spsd to show for Cmas dnr at 3. He's never late. Pls check, don't know where he lives now._

 _-Lyall_

Alastor's gut feeling flooded to every inch of his body in fiery panic. He allowed it for two seconds. He always allowed it for two seconds. This time was more painful than most. Three seconds, and he forced it away. He was clinical, Mad-Eye Moody the unfeeling, effective auror. He disapparated.

Lupin's apartment was the same one he'd tracked the werewolf to after the first time he disappeared. It was small, but comfortable. The large window in the wall opposite the door was open, allowing the winter into the room. Papers were being tossed by a lazy breeze like dead leaves. The walls were scarred by spells. There was a broken mug beside the desk. All of the spilled tea had dried, leaving a rim of residue on the floor.

"Conservo," intoned Mad-Eye distantly, drawing his wand in a horizontal arc to preserve the evidence from this point onward. Then he stepped gingerly over the detritus of paper and books and closed the window. The breeze ceased.

Something on the desk caught his eye.

A piece of parchment was stuck to the wood surface, glued down by a sticky spill of ink. But in the upper corner, in neat cursive, read, _Dear Mad-Eye,-_

Nothing more.

Nothing more except a red teardrop, splattered across the comma. Any possibility of continuation, erased. An ending, unforeseen.

Alastor had not been watching. A lapse in vigilance. He deserved no reward, for he had fallen asleep like the rest of them.

* * *

 _Unknown_

Remus was dreaming.

He dreamt of Hogwarts. He dreamt of Peter, quiet in a crowded common room. Of his quick, watchful, watery blue eyes. He dreamt of James, standing tall and proud. Ensuring everyone knew that there was still something to smile about. He dreamt of Lily, her fierce grace and strength. Unafraid to look for beauty even in the darkest places and people. Bearing their hopes and hurts like they had no weight.

He dreamt of Sirius.

He dreamt of laughter and the infinite dome of galaxies above his head.

He woke to silence.

It was a very, very long time before he moved. The world was spinning too fast. If he shifted even an inch, he could fall off the ground and into the dark. The only sound was his harsh breaths echoing in an enclosed space. If he stopped… the silence would be absolute.

He was utterly alone.

" _You know we'll never leave you, right?"_

Funny, he'd been dreaming about… about…

Weak light penetrated the darkness when Remus next opened his eyes. There had never been light before. It was the change that stirred him to full wakefulness, that stirred his muddled brain into something like alertness. The light filtered down stone steps from what Remus supposed was an open door. He blinked, uncomprehending. His surroundings were pinging in his mind with slow clarity. He was in some kind of cellar, low-ceilinged and bare.

And he was no longer alone.

Pyrites was standing with his arms loosely by his sides. His head was cocked almost curiously as he looked down to where Remus was slumped against a wall. His appearance had not changed since Remus first saw him. The coin-like eyes refracted the oily light, making them look disturbingly empty. He was dressed in clean lines, expensive, but not extravagant. Meant to catch the eye with its elegance. The whiteness of his silk gloves was like snow against the murky gray stone of the cellar.

"Where am I?"

"In a place you can rest."

Remus could not respond, numb surprise stippling his thoughts like static.

"Besides," Pyrites continued in a voice like slippers on carpet. "You were starting to ask the right people the right questions. Forgive me, but it was time to remove you from the equation." His expression remained blank as a slate. "The Dark Lord must rise again."

"No," Remus whispered.

Pyrites face managed a frighteningly accurate subtlety. Pity. "It won't matter to you. In time. I think that time is the key with your kind."

He turned away from Remus, towards the stairs. Remus found himself stuttering a question. "Time?"

If only to keep Pyrites down here. In the hollowness of the cellar.

Pyrites paused at the bottom of the stairs, white hand clutching the rail. "Time," he echoed, a soft thrum in his voice. "All the time in the world."

* * *

 _June 16, 1986_

"I should have the two of you suspended! Honestly Alastor, I expect this kind of crap from Black, but from you?! You've been sitting on vital information for months. _Months!_ I hope to bloody Merlin that you haven't been using Ministry resources on this little project of yours because if the Minister's Secretary of the Treasury finds out, she'll have my head. And _your_ empty skulls too!"

Any other night, Sirius would have been amused to watch Scrimgeour pace and rant and grow steadily redder. But right now he couldn't muster the energy.

"None of your precious resources were consumed," Mad-Eye sighed gruffly.

"It's not about the resources!" shouted Scrimgeour. The man's tawny mane was even more wild than usual. "You wake me up in the middle of the goddamned night and tell me there's been a suspected Death Eater in the Ministry for months. And then even _after_ a mass breakout from Azkaban you keep it to yourself! And now you've gone an arrested Mr. Borgin with little to no evidence at all and expect me to be able to provide protection from some invisible threat."

"Eurion Pyrites is as flesh and blood as the rest of us," retorted Mad-Eye smoothly.

"And I expect you want me to arrest him as soon as he shows his bloody face back at work, eh?"

"Of course not," Mad-Eye replied with a predatory grin. "I expect you to do nothing."

Sirius glanced sharply at his grizzled companion.

"This is a dangerous game you're playing, Alastor," muttered Scrimgeour.

"Just to see how he reacts," Sirius cut in, catching on.

"Never pegged you as the sort to play the long game, Black," bit back his boss. He collapsed into his desk chair and leaned forward heavily. "What are you hoping for?"

"That he'll show his hand," Mad-Eye said evenly.

"Do you have an idea of what that hand may be?"

The atmosphere in the office thickened.

"We might have an idea, yes," said Sirius after a pause. He ignored Mad-Eye's warning glance and bluntly stated, "We think that he is trying to bring Voldemort back."

Scrimgeour did not jump, but his head came up so sharply that Sirius' neck gave a sympathetic twinge.

" _What?_ " hissed the Head Auror.

Mad-Eye glared at Sirius, but did not comment. Instead, he merely followed up with, "You heard him."

Scrimgeour's silence was deadly. But, if Sirius was reading the darkening scowl correctly, it seemed that they weren't going to be thrown out of the Auror Department for spreading scandal. In fact, after several minutes of consideration, Scrimgeour asked in a measured voice, "What does this have to do with Mr. Borgin?"

"We believe he has been providing Pyrites and his followers with a hiding place. He's probably been doing this since Voldemort was in power."

"A hiding place?"

"A mirror," said Mad-Eye. Sirius had a brief impression of cold emptiness at the mention of the place. And longing. His bruised and bleeding hand twitched. The movement did not go unnoticed by the clever yellow eyes of Scrimgeour. Sirius made his face go blank and folded his hands behind his back, but Scrimgeour scrutinized him closely.

"What aren't you telling me?"

Sirius felt his breath freeze in his lungs. Would Mad-Eye tell Scrimgeour that they suspected that Remus Lupin was still alive? That Remus was somehow involved in Pyrites twisted plots? That maybe… maybe in the years he'd been held in a place designed to cut him off from the world the werewolf had finally snapped? Suddenly the article about Remus was at the forefront of his mind, every veiled accusation made by Burke echoing in his ears. The bloody crime scene photographs of Liam Carmichael's body floated tauntingly in his vision. His own doubts about his friend were threatening to choke him when Mad-Eye's voice penetrated his rapidly de-railing thoughts.

"You know everything you need to know for now."

With those few words Sirius could breathe again.

"I do, do I?" But Scrimgeour seemed resigned and didn't push. "Fine. You can place a watch on Borgin and Burke's and float a rumor that he's off in Egypt bartering for rare artifacts. In the meantime he'll stay confined to the Ministry holding cells. If anyone asks, I'll tell them it's classified information."

"Thank you, Rufus."

"Let this be a show of my trust in you Alastor."

"Let's hope I don't ruin it then, yeah?" grunted Mad-Eye. "Let's go Black. I'm sure Molly would love to force some food down your throat."

* * *

Harry was not very talkative when Sirius returned to the Burrow at daybreak.

Sirius noticed right away, with a twinge of guilt. He watched Harry out of the corner of his eye, seated quietly at the kitchen table with his brows knit. Sirius recognized the expression from James. He was mentally chewing on something and unsure how to word it.

"Stop twitching, Black," scolded Molly. "You're making this difficult."

"Sorry. Will Arthur be down soon?"

"Any minute," she replied distractedly. Her cloud of red hair was pinned back and she was wearing a floral apron. "Hands off!" she snapped suddenly.

For a second, Sirius thought she was talking to him. Then he saw Fred and George scurrying away from a pan of fresh cinnamon buns. He raised an eyebrow. "Huh. You got eyes hidden beneath that crazy hair of yours?"

"Instinct honed by many years of raising trouble-makers," she explained.

Sirius chuckled. "Yeah, Euphie Potter was the same way. Your grandma could smell mischief like a bloodhound," he said to Harry. Harry smiled, but his brow remained knotted.

Sirius frowned at him. Besides the twins (who had roused themselves earlier to steal sweets and cause general chaos), the rest of the Weasley children were still sleeping. Harry had been awake and waiting when Sirius arrived in the gray morning. "Hey. What are you thinking abou- _OW!"_

He jerked his hand back from Molly, glaring at her. She glared stubbornly back, brandishing a dishcloth soaked with murtlap.

"That hurts!"

"I told you to stop twitching," she countered. "It will hurt less if you just hold still. Honestly, you're worse than Charlie."

Tentatively, Sirius extended his right hand again, wincing as Molly resumed cleaning the split knuckles. It already looked rather gruesome. The skin was turning a nasty shade of purple. He returned his attention to Harry, who was now staring at his mangled hand.

"Um, anyway… what are you thinking about?"

Harry scrunched his nose (like Lily used to). "What happened to your hand? Did you get hurt at work?"

"Not exactly," Sirius replied, unsure what to say next. Molly was looking at him with an expression that clearly indicated that he was on his own. That was fair, he supposed, since he'd barely explained to her. "I punched a wall."

"You punched a wall? Why?"

"I was… upset about something," Sirius struggled. He had been trying, valiantly, to keep all ugly, dark things locked in a box when he came home from Azkaban. He'd even been successful for a while. Today he could feel the box beginning to dissolve.

"But… now you just hurt _more_ ," Harry pointed out innocently.

"Yeah," sighed Sirius, feeling more chagrined by the child's simple logic than Molly's scolding could have managed. "Now I just hurt more."

"Why were you upset?" asked Harry after a pause.

Sirius exhaled heavily, afraid of what could escape if the box disappeared completely. Molly was now spreading bruise cream over his damaged knuckles while a bandage unrolled itself on the table.

"I was frustrated," he started. "I thought… I thought I had figured something out. About my friend, Remus. Remember him?"

"He's still lost?"

"He's still lost," Sirius confirmed, feeling an ache in his chest. "I thought I was close to finding him but… the puzzle is just getting more complicated."

"You won't give up though," Harry said firmly.

Sirius forced a smile.

"No, Prongslet. I'm just… getting tired is all. Lucky for me I have you and some good friends to take care of me."

"The Weasley's are the best people in the whole world!" Harry agreed, grinning widely at Molly.

"Oh heavens, you two!" Molly said, flustered. She finished wending a white bandage over the slimey bruise cream and patted his hand in a motherly way. Sirius glanced up at her and saw that her eyes were a little pink and misty. And she also looked tired. How much sleep had she been getting amidst all of the craziness? Plus looking after six energetic kids day after day had to be exhausting…

"Well, I'd better get breakfast ready for the rest of the little terrors," she announced tremulously. "Harry, go wake up Ron will you? He'll help you with the stragglers."

Harry was up and out of the kitchen like a shot. Sirius listened to his feet thumping loudly on the creaking stairs.

"He's not wrong, though," Sirius said suddenly. "You and Arthur… I don't know what I would have done without you."

"Someone would have stepped up," Molly said, directing fruit, bowls and spoons, milk, and cereal towards the table. Upstairs, they could hear the thumping of feet and a few disgruntled, sleep-laiden voices.

"No, not like you have," Sirius corrected her, uncharacteristically solemn. "I know I'm not always an easy person, and I've spent a lot of time mourning old friends. But you should know I treasure my new ones."

"Oh, Sirius," sniffled Molly, she hastily swiped at her eyes. "I… I don't know what to say. It's a labor of love."

"You don't have to say anything." He changed his tone to something more chipper, popping out of his chair. "Just remember this moment next time I'm being an ass."

She rolled her eyes as Arthur entered the kitchen, dressed for work.

"Sirius! You're back! What happened?"

"I'll be fine," said Sirius, flexing his bandaged hand and wincing. Arthur glanced at the hand, but then narrowed his eyes on Sirius' face.

"You left in quite a hurry last night," he stated.

"Something came up."

"Something having to do with your friend?"

Sirius nodded shortly. Arthur's expression was thoughtful as he made his way to the cinnamon rolls on the counter.

"I got your patronus an hour ago. About keeping an eye out. Dumbledore followed up just now, that he was sending some people to strengthen the protections on the Burrow."

Molly stared between the two of them, alarm leeching color from her face.

"Is this somehow connected to the Azkaban breakout?" Arthur asked abruptly.

"What makes you say that?"

"Pettigrew was in my house for five years, Sirius. It was my son who revealed him. Should we be worried?"

"Pettigrew is too much of a coward for revenge," Sirius assured him. The mention of Peter put a sour taste in his mouth. "No, this is my fault."

"How on earth is this your fault?" Molly demanded crossly.

Sirius couldn't answer.

There was no reasonable explanation, but still, Sirius was certain of it. Somehow, this new danger for the Weasleys related to him. If he hadn't relied on them so much with Harry, if he hadn't gone to the mirror so soon and revealed his cards to Pyrites, if he hadn't struggled so much with the aftermath of Azkaban. If he had not convinced his best friend to put his family's lives in the hands of a traitor. The list was long in his head, some of the items so abstract that he couldn't put them to words.

"It just is," he insisted instead.

He caught Arthur and Molly's wordless exchange and braced himself.

But Arthur only asked, "Will you at least tell us where you were last night?"

Sirius told them. And he told them all of it, the whole truth, not the carefully edited version of events he and Mad-Eye had given Scrimgeour. He delivered it like an auror would deliver a report to his superior, afraid that if he did not, he would get emotional. His voice only wavered once. Because Remus wasn't there.

"Dumbledore has the documents and we placed a watch on the place," Sirius finished. "But I'm certain that Pyrites has been to our cottage, which means he's probably been watching us for some time and knows that Harry comes here fairly often." Sirius rubbed his uninjured hand over his face, stretching the skin from his eyes were it felt tight and itchy. "He's dangerous," he projected into the air, coming to a few conclusions out loud while Molly and Arthur listened. "He's patient. And he's an unknown factor. We never knew of his involvement with the Death Eaters during the war, but it appears that he was in Voldemort's inner circle. He relied on anonymity up until now. And we can't predict what he'll do since we've broken that."

The Weasleys were silent. Upstairs, kids were shouting at one another to be let into the bathroom.

"I'm sorry about Remus," Arthur finally said.

Sirius nodded once. "Thanks. I'll have recanvas Knockturn. See if anyone else saw something. Perhaps later today, after I check in with Scrimgeour. And Dumbledore."

He hardly felt his exhaustion anymore, only as a dull ache in his head and joints. And the strange, drunken rambling of his thoughts.

"Sirius, you should rest," Arthur suggested. "You can't-" But he was interrupted by the children's feet pounded on the floorboards, descending. The adults quickly composed themselves, instinctively hiding their troubles. There was a clamor as Fred and George yelled about bathroom rights, Percy toted a crying Ginny to Molly, and Ron and Harry tripped over one another to say good-bye to Arthur. Sirius faded back to let the Weasleys handle the chaos, his headache spiking.

He thanked Molly for the tea she thrust into his hands moments later, even though he wished for something more caffeinated. The tea was definitely not strong enough. And it left a funny aftertaste in his mouth. His eyelids grew irresistibly heavy and the floor swayed. Muttering an excuse, he exited into the quiet of the living room. He barely made it to the couch before the shadowy cushions swallowed him whole.

* * *

Sirius jerked awake abruptly, sucking breath into his mouth. For a harrowing moment, he had no sense of time or any idea where he was. But only for a moment. Sun spilled in a bright orange rectangle over a threadbare rug and the smell of something roasting hung in the air. He was covered in a patchwork quilt that smelled vaguely of lavender and age. A static-laiden voice warbled over the worn radio that Molly kept in the kitchen.

Grunting, he pushed himself upright on the couch and hissed when he put too much weight on his mending hand.

When had he even fallen asleep?

His thoughts were muddled. He vaguely remembered Molly sending Harry to wake the rest of the Weasley's, chatting with her in the kitchen, an explosion of young people... a cup of tea?

The realization hit him. Indignation and the smallest hint of admiration swelled in his chest. That sneaky-

Just then the Weasley matriarch bustled into the living room.

"You drugged me!" Sirius exclaimed.

"Yes, dear," Molly replied absently. She straightened the curtains, adjusting the shape of the sun-splotch on the floor and sending a poof of dust into the golden beams.

"I can't believe you drugged me!" Sirius re-iterated with shock.

"It was for your own good, Sirius. After the night you had."

"You had no right!"

"You could make that argument, yes," said Molly. She did not seem bothered at all by the breach of Sirius' rights, however. "Now, Albus is here and seems intent on talking with you before he leaves. He's on the back porch."

She left Sirius spluttering and extricating himself from the tangle of blankets around his ankles. As soon as he managed to free himself, he stormed after her into the kitchen.

"You can't go around dosing people with sleeping potion-"

"Oh please-"

"I had things to do today-"

"Those things could wait. And I'm sure if you take a breath, you'll realize that you actually needed it. You look better than you have in weeks."

For some reason, Molly looked mildly amused as she said this. Sirius glowered at her.

"Tea?" she offered innocently.

With a dignified glare, Sirius turned on his heel and went out to the back porch. It smelled like baking grass and he wondered how Dumbledore could stand wearing his heavy robes in the afternoon heat. The Headmaster was contentedly perched on a wicker chair, stray silver hairs waving lazily in the breeze. His eyes were fixed on the figures of the children on brooms laughing over the field. The sound of humming insects rose and fell all around them.

"Ah, Sirius, I see you've finished your nap," said the old wizard genially. His eyes twinkled as they surveyed his face.

Sirius returned the greeting with a disgruntled, "Why are you here?"

"I'm taking care of a few sensitive orders of business."

"Yeah?" grumbled Sirius as he lowered himself into the empty chair next to the professor. He didn't want to admit it to himself, but he did feel better. Physically at least. And his mind was clearer than it had been this morning. "Do these sensitive issues have anything to do with last night?"

"Somewhat. You and Mad-Eye have managed to cause a bit of a stir at the Ministry."

"Scrimgeour was supposed to keep that information classified," Sirius groaned.

"The Head Auror is obligated to share with the Minister if she chooses to inquire. And she did."

"Great," muttered Sirius.

"Don't worry, the public is yet unaware of the developments. The Minister merely sought my advice on the matter. I advised her to keep it close to chest until you apprehend Pyrites. We don't want to incite any panic. For now she will go along with your covert operation."

"Why do I get the feeling you're here about more than just the Minister's concerns?"

"You have always been more perceptive than you appear, Sirius."

"Thanks, I think."

"You're welcome," said Dumbledore with a smile. Then his face fell into seriousness again. "I'm here to talk to you about the Order of the Phoenix."

Sirius' stomach did an interesting flutter, followed by a plunge. The last time Dumbledore had said those words to him had been in the Headmaster's office. And he hadn't been alone. The memory of war was cold as ice in the summer heat. God, if he knew then what was coming… what would he have done?

"You think it might be necessary?" he asked woodenly.

"That will depend on the coming events," Dumbledore responded. A certain gravity crept into the porch. Even the sounds of the insects was muffled. Suddenly the laughter of the children on brooms set Sirius on edge and he scanned the field sharply.

"I had Filius and Dedalus double the protections on both your property and the Weasley's," Dumbledore murmured, reading his thoughts. "It may take some time to go through the documents that you found. Pyrites has been in the shadows for a long time, waiting for the wizarding world to lower its guard. To close their eyes. He never counted on your release, Sirius. You never had the luxury of rest. And fortunately, Alastor sleeps with one eye open."

"What about you?" Sirius probed, accusation and bitterness coloring his voice.

"Perhaps I've been watchful. But distracted by my own purposes." There was an apology in Dumbledore's soft statement.

Sirius reeled back his frustration and tapped his fingers on the wicker armrest. A rhythm of some forgotten song. His collection of muggle vinyl had been lost after his arrest. The glossy black discs had collected dust during the war. Most things had. Those words had marked the beginning of the end for the Marauders. " _I'm here to talk to you about the Order of the Phoenix."_

But, Sirius reflected, they could not have turned away. It wasn't in their blood.

"So," he said. "The Order."

"The Order," repeated Dumbledore. "I haven't told anyone of your discoveries. Indeed, I have not yet concluded if Pyrites is even capable of what he is attempting to do. But I intend to bring in Minerva tonight. Mad-Eye of course. Dedalus and Filius obviously know something is in the air. And I'm hoping, should the need arise, I can count on you as well."

"Of course," Sirius said. His voice sounded strange to his ears.

"I also plan to speak to Molly and Arthur-"

"No!" Sirius snapped, sharper than he meant to. Dumbledore regarded him steadily.

"You cannot make this decision for them, Sirius. They are already involved-"

"As much as they need to be," Sirius finished firmly. "They're doing more than enough helping with Harry. We can't ask for their lives, Albus."

"It may not come to that."

"It has _already_ come to that," Sirius hissed.

Silence fell between them then. Sirius' fingers trembled like they had when he straightened James' glasses in the stairwell of Godric's Hollow.

"It has," Dumbledore murmured. "But I fear that it is too late to ask Molly and Arthur to step away. They care too much for you and Harry."

Sirius could not deny it. The truth was written in every piece of clothing he and Harry owned, in the recipes collected on his kitchen counter, in Arthur's soft questions, in the bandages on Sirius' hand and in the sleeping potion in his tea. A lump gathered in his throat.

"How long do you think we have?" he asked.

"Not long," answered Dumbledore. "It's possible he already knows that we've discovered his secret. There are still spies at the Ministry. And the ranks of free Death Eaters have recently increased. Even without the Dark Lord, Pyrites has proven himself an able manipulator, if not leader."

"Okay. Okay. Let me know when you start sorting through those documents. And if there's any sign…"

"Of Remus's whereabouts? Of course."

Dumbledore stood and straightened his amethyst robes. His half-moon glasses glinted merrily in the sunlight, as if the conversation had not been a somber one.

"Tell Molly I'm sorry that I'm missing dinner. It smells divine. But alas, duty calls. Finals commence tomorrow."

"Good evening, Albus."

"Good evening. Oh, and Sirius?"

"Mmm?"

"You have something on your face."

With a twinkling grin, Dumbledore swept off the porch and through the yard. The hens squawked and scolded as he parted their ranks. Sirius stared after him in confusion, then spun around to check his reflection in the window. And spluttered indignantly.

Glasses were inked around his eyes, his cheeks filled in with red marker, and a curly mustache had been added to his scruff. But his curses soon evolved into a deep belly-laugh that had Molly rushing outside to check on him.

"O-ho those two have no idea what they've started!" he hooted.

If anything, this made Molly even more alarmed. Sirius didn't care. He laughed until he was out of breath and the knot in his throat loosened. An old pilot light of mischief reignited. Fine. If it was pranks the twins wanted, Padfoot would gladly deliver.

"Merlin save me," Molly muttered under her breath.

"Need any help in there?" Sirius cheerfully inquired.

She gave him a once over with a dubious eye. Underneath, however, was a warm spark of satisfaction. "I guess you'll have to do," she said with a false sigh. "I was just about the set the table."

He followed her inside, still grinning madly. She snatched a glass bowl of salad, leaving the meat to Sirius. It smelled absolutely delicious, crusted in fragrant summer herbs.

"Molly, you are a goddess among women, truly."

"And _you_ , Sirius Black, are a worse flatterer than my husband-"

 _CRACK!_

Sirius spun, the roast forgotten and the mirth vanishing from his chest. The salad bowl was in pieces on the ground. Baby tomatoes rolled across the floor in all directions, but Molly did not notice. She was standing, frozen, her hands empty but still held as if the large bowl was still between them. But her wide brown eyes were fixed on something in the hallway.

"Molly?"

Sirius crossed the kitchen in two large strides, drawing his wand as he went. Adrenaline was already racing through his veins, his mind's eye picturing death masks and dark figures. But the hallway was empty.

"Molly what is it?"

"Arthur," she whispered, tremulously. Her usually rosy cheeks were white as chalk. Sirius followed her gaze to the clock on the wall and forgot how to breathe.

Arthur Weasley's hand was resting on "Mortal Peril."

* * *

 **Cliff-hangers are my drug. Please review!**


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